


Tasty, Tasty, Beautiful Fear

by pennywife



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Ending, Blood and Gore, Cheating, Disturbing Themes, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fear Play, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Murder, Other, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-01-30 23:51:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 59,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12663993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennywife/pseuds/pennywife
Summary: People like you aren't supposed to be alone.





	1. Alone

Your eyes are wet with tears and your jaws clench down on the flesh of your cheeks. There's really no eloquent way to put it; you'd have rather driven off the edge of a cliff than back into this place. 

Knowing that you didn't truly make it out sits in your mouth like the most bitter of losses. It tastes a lot like abandonment, and that's a taste your tongue has grown tired of. It tastes like loneliness, and it tastes like envy, but mostly it tastes like defeat. 

The second you knew you could leave this all behind you did. 

You left. 

You ran, faster than you knew you ever could. You fled so far from it all, your feet kicking up clogs of that ashy soil that the bullies used to shove your face into. The squealing of your tires on the wet asphalt drowned out the memories of neglect, of pain, of endless days spent wishing you could go anywhere else — that you could just get out. 

But it just won’t fucking go away.

It's like this place sucked you back in. This grey, shit-smelling, pit-stain of a town pulled you back under the dark water by the sinewy flesh of your ankles. This place is a black hole, nothing more than a recurring nightmare. It's like ever since you left it's always been behind you; it's always been holding onto the hem of your shirt with gnarled fingers. 

And so now here you lay, on a second-hand mattress, in the only place you could afford to live alone. Its decrepit, it's disheveled, and worst of all, it's right on the shittiest street of the wasteland they call Derry. 

This is it. This is your rock bottom. This is your absolute zero. 

You think perhaps you'll stay on this filthy, blood-and-piss-stained mattress forever; until your hair grays and your muscles atrophy and the walls crumble down around you. 

You can't remember the last time you heard a voice besides your own. You can't remember the last time you felt something other than disgust; other than anger at the fact that this is where you are right now; other than the gnawing fear that this aloneness will never end. And to be honest, you can't even remember the last time you were touched by another person. You haven't felt the warmth of a hug, or even the simple brushing of a hand for what feels like a fucking eternity. 

But last night, while trying to force yourself to sleep, you're sure you heard your own voice from down the hall.

Your skin suddenly turns to gooseflesh and your chest begins to feel heavy. Fuck. Don't think about that. You shake your head and the frightening memory disappears. People like you aren't supposed to be alone. 

There's a black and brown stain on the ceiling, like spilled coffee on a page, and your eyes travel to it for a moment. If you close one lid it kind of looks like a bird, and for some reason it gives you comfort. You wish you could will the poor thing to fly away. 

You think of a better place. 

You think of a place where the smell of mold and sewage doesn't keep you up at night. Your mind takes you to a place where the walls and ceiling aren't peeling and cracked, spilling out long-legged insects onto the floor. You think of warmth. You think of sunflowers, of grass under your feet. You think back to the smell of chlorine, the chirping of crickets, and the crackling sound of a radio in a boy's car. You think about the feeling of a mouth pressed against your own, the taste of fruit-stained lips, a nervous hand up your blouse—

You stop yourself when you realize it's your own hand, cupping your breast with an absent mind. Blood starts pumping warmer and harder behind your skin, and a thin film of sweat begins to appear on your face. 

You close your eyes and arch into your own warm palm. Butterflies flutter to life between your hips and a hunger awakens within you that you forgot you ever had. You slide your other hand underneath the band of your pajamas, feeling the warm wetness that awaits beneath. 

A gentle sound starts to roar behind your ears, like the crashing of waves. You move your fingers in small, gentle circles and the ocean becomes louder. You think about men; about musk, about cologne, about sweat dripping from matted hair. You think about being caressed, about being kissed, about just being fucked. By now the ocean is deafening. You can almost feel it, almost feel the gliding of hands up your shoulders, over your chest, wrapping around your neck— 

Suddenly everything in the room goes quiet and cold, like the inside of a morgue. The ocean disappears as quickly as it arrived. 

Your eyes fly open. It wasn't just your imagination. Realization hits you like a fist to the jaw and your mind finally comprehends who— what— has just appeared on top of you. 

"Welcome home!" It half-squeaks, half-growls the words into your face. "I thought you'd never come back! I was scared you'd floated away!" 

The memories of your childhood are muddled, like blurry photographs, but you think you've seen this this thing before. That voice. Those fucking eyes.  
Is this one of the reasons you didn't want to come back? 

The clown-faced thing smiles in a way you didn't think was possible, its bottom lip dripping down as if it's being pulled by a string. You can smell its disgusting saliva as it drips onto your cheek but you can't even squirm away from it. It just pours onto you like sewer-water, like venom. 

The gloved grip around your throat becomes so tight you swear you can hear cracking; you're sure you can feel the discs in your spine being crushed like eggshells. You can't speak, can't breathe, and just when you see darkness creeping into the corners of your eyes it leans into you again. 

This time it doesn't speak. Instead, it takes a deep inhale through its painted nostrils. Its face goes lax as it sniffs you. Its eyes close and its mouth parts, as though it knows your scent will bring it some perverse feeling of ecstasy. 

It's going to slaughter you. You can feel it. 

But then suddenly its face becomes hard, like a painted statue. It glares at you with impossibly carved brows and Saturn-colored eyes and they bore into you like blood-spattered razors and you think you're screaming but the sound just won't come out and oh my god you're gonna die. This is it. This is how you're gonna die. 

It leans in even closer and takes another sniff, like it's testing its senses, like it's just smelled something that it shouldn't have. It jerks back from you as though you smell of piss, of rotting flesh, of stale vomit, of everything disgusting any mind could possibly conjure. The thing gives you one last look of disgust before releasing the grip on your throat.

Then it vanishes. It just... fucking... disappears, becomes nothing right in front of your eyes. 

Finally you're able to breathe again, filling your lungs with gulp after gulp of cold air. Panic floods through your body like a death-rattle, making you heave and hug your knees tightly to your chest. 

You don't know what that was, or if it was even real, but something deep within you tells you it'll be back here.


	2. The Lady in the Tub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next time it comes to you it's in the form of something else— something worse.

It's been weeks since the incident, the one your brain won't let you revisit. Every time you try to picture that face in your head the room begins to spin and your ears start to ring. Perhaps if you could, you would play with the memory over and over and shape it like putty. You would remember things that didn't happen, and that pristine, horrifying incident would be destroyed.

This time it's in your bathroom. You've just tossed a bundle of laundry into the hamper when you see something move in your peripheral. Every muscle in your body freezes, and you can't quite force your eyes to look in that direction. It's only when you accidentally let out a wet gulping sound that it moves, and your retinas dash towards it instinctively.

You see the back of a young woman. She's just sitting in your bathtub with her knees pressed to her chest. The sight makes your heart flutter against your ribs like a bird in a cage. You can't stop yourself from gasping and then the woman does too. She mimics you like she's nothing more than an immature child, but you can see from her frame that she is anything but. Her body starts heaving from her deep breaths but her wet hair hides the sides of her face. You tell yourself you can run, but it's like your muscles have turned to ice and if you move even just an inch you'll shatter to pieces.

After what feels like an eternity, she slowly turns around to face you. Her whole body repositions itself in the tub, making water slosh out as her wet skin squeaks against the porcelain. Now you can see all of her, and when you finally recognize her face your legs give out. Your ass hits the tile with such a force that it sends shockwaves through your body, but you don't take your eyes off of her for even a second.

The woman in the bathtub isn't just some home invader, or some disgruntled person from your past. The curve of her eyes, the shape of her body— the woman is you.

You feel your mouth spilling the words, "Oh god, oh please, oh god," but you can't hear them. You're too focused on the succubus leaning over the edge of the tub.

 _"I can't remember the last time I was touched."_ Its mouth moves just like yours. Its brows furrow just like yours. It leans further over the tub as if to plead with you. _"I need to be touched. I need to be fucked. Won't you fuck me?"_ It pauses, before lifting its arms over the tub and showing you two vertical gashes on both of its wrists. _"I'm so alone."_

A scream rips through your vocal chords. It's all the way across the room but even still you begin kicking your feet frantically to push yourself back from it. The water becomes a deep red and thickens; it clings to the doppelgänger's writhing body. A crimson waterfall begins spilling out of the tub and the sharp scent of iron floods your nostrils.

 _"I'm so alone. I'm so alone."_ It repeats that single phrase over and over like some satanic mantra, never once breaking eye-contact with you. The naked, blood-covered body begins crawling over the edge. Its arms and legs move fluidly, inhumanly, as it presses itself low to the ground. It hunches towards you as though it's a lioness stalking her prey in the underbrush. You twist at the knob behind you, begging the door to please fucking open, but it's really no surprise to you that it doesn't budge. _It's a demon. It has to be a demon._ The repetition grows louder, deeper, never once falters. It's getting closer now. In just a few moments its mutilated arms will be able to reach you. You close your eyes and prepare for the inevitable pain that awaits you.

But suddenly the chanting stops. You can sense that she— it— has stopped moving just inches from your face. Her odorless breath brushes against your skin but still she does not make contact. You wait and you wait for the attack to come, but it never does. You just sit there, far too much of a coward to open your eyes to face it.

It's only when you hear a deep whisper of, "Hey kid," do you finally pry open your lids.

Before your eyes can even comprehend the image in front of you, the eerie whisper becomes a deafening roar.  **"WON'T YOU FUCK ME?"**

Your entire body jolts with terror. It’s not your own face in front of you; it's the clown's from before, less than an inch from your nose. Its mouth is enormous and agape, a sharp contrast to the childlike grin you saw the other night. Row after row of needle-like fangs glisten under the buzzing lights of your bathroom. You let out a scream so loud it pierces your own eardrums. You keep twisting at the crystal of the door until finally, as if some spell has been lifted, it unlocks. The door swings open behind you and you topple back into the hallway.

Quickly, you flip onto your feet to flee. Your rapid footsteps rattle the entire apartment like sticks against a drum. Before you realize you've even escaped the front door, you feel wet grass under your feet. You swear you can feel it behind you, nipping at your heels like a rabid dog. You don't trust your car to start, so you simply run until your legs and your chest can no longer take the burning.

At long last, you collapse on a bench that sits in the center of Derry. You rest there, gasping, until the morning sun replaces the glow of the streetlamp above you.


	3. Have You Seen This Clown?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't force your legs to carry you back into that apartment.

You're awakened by a hand on your shoulder, shaking you. You peel yourself up from the bench that you were sleeping on and a police officer asks you if you're alright. Quickly putting on an heir of respectability; you tell him yes, and that you'll be on your way.

By now the sky is a brilliant pink. You don't have to worry about something crawling out of the bushes as you walk barefoot through the town.

There’s a park just around the corner, so that's where you decide to go. Resting on the dewy grass, you watch the birds and the squirrels dance playfully around the trees that line the walking-trails. It’s all so pleasant and fresh, a razor-sharp contrast to the moldy darkness of your current excuse for a home.

Fuck. You don’t ever want to leave.You don’t ever want to go back. You just want to stay here, with the birds and the squirrels, until the ground swallows your bones and feeds your flesh to the worms.

But eventually the air grows warm and the young mothers begin arriving to merrily push their pastel strollers. The sight makes your chest tighten, and you decide it's time for you to leave.

You pace around Main Street for what seems like hours on end, thinking of something— anything— to keep yourself occupied, to keep yourself from having to go back to whatever evil now lingers in the recesses of your home. At long last when the sun rests at the top of your head, an idea flickers to life behind your eyes.

By now you're completely exhausted, but even still you drag your painfully-sore legs to the only office supply store left in this shitty town.

You purchase a bundle of paper, a few markers, and a stapler; ignoring the stare from the cashier as he eyes your pajamas and bare feet. Perching down on some old concrete steps, you set to make about twenty drawings. You hurriedly sketch a pursed smile, two rabbit-like teeth, and a full head of flame-shaped hair. You draw it all so many times that even when you close your eyes you can see it clearly again. It starts to feel like that terrifying face is permanently seared into the skin of your lids. The thought sends a shiver up your spine, curling around your heart and squeezing.

But you shake away the disturbing thought with a sigh, spreading the papers out to examine your work. It’s crude, but it’ll do.

With deft fingers you tear the bottoms into vertical strips at the end, tediously writing your cell-phone number onto each one, like those fliers you see in the movies. Lastly, at the top of each sheet you write ‘HAVE YOU SEEN THIS CLOWN?’ in enormous black letters. You staple the posters as far apart from one another as you can, making sure to cover all the places in the town with the most-foot traffic. This is your life now; frantically stapling posters of something you had to have hallucinated.

After you’ve finished you realize that you’re not sure whether or not you actually want anyone to call. If they no one calls, you’re insane.

But if they do call…

You dig your nails into your palms, trying to distract yourself from your own irrational thoughts.

Soon it gets dark, and then it gets cold.

Your vision starts to blur from the exhaustion as you amble like a zombie through the town, struggling to assure yourself that everything you saw was a figment of your imagination. You hadn't spoken to a single person in weeks when that thing first appeared, even longer when it came back a second time.

There's just no way something like what you saw could actually be here on this earth, in this plane of existence. Ghosts, demons, angels; they just don't fucking exist.

At last you make your way home, telling yourself it was all a sick hallucination to keep your brain from shutting down completely. It wasn't real. It couldn't have been.

Each step onto the old wood on becomes an explosion of creaks and whines as you amble through your doorway. Fear clutches at your throat with an icy fist, making your eyes throb and the bend of your arms drip with sweat. You creep inside, fully prepared for the clown—or your demonic twin— to make a sudden appearance. You begin treading lightly from room to room, your heart skipping a beat each time you flip on another light switch. Your chattering teeth and corpse-white fists clench together so tightly you think they might break.

But even with your muscles taut and ready to spring away in case you should hear a sound, you still feel a gnawing sense of defeat twisting at your gut. A low, miserable voice in the back of your mind tells you that you'll never escape, not truly. This is the town that they'll bury you in, whether a demon is waiting in here or not.

At last, you make your way to the bathroom. The dank air of your apartment floods in and out of your lungs as you apprehensively press open the door.

The smell is still here, even worse now. You gag and heave violently as though you can taste it clinging to the back of your throat. Your eyes follow the blackish-red trail from the doorway to the tub, stopping at the stains that pool out from the bowl. Written directly onto the dry, caked blood, as though by a finger, are the words: "Have You Seen This Clown?"


	4. Straitjacket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dementophobia: the fear of insanity or becoming insane.

It took hours to scrub the blood from the grout of your tiles. Your body was so wracked with the prospect of something else creeping out from the darkness of your room that you could hardly keep your hand still as you went. It took earth-shaking bouts of fear, at times having to drop your sponge and flee out to the safety of your yard to dry-heave. 

The evil force that had plagued your home had been indubitably confirmed as real, but even so you stayed and you slept here night after night. It wasn’t out of bravery. It wasn't out of self-preservation. It wasn't even out of sheer denial. It was because you had nowhere else to go. It was because you are that fucking alone. 

A day comes when you find yourself asking if it would have been better if that thing had just caught you. Would it have been better if the soft flesh of your belly was clawed apart, spilling your steaming intestines onto the linoleum? What if your breasts had been flayed open, your still-beating heart torn right from your chest? Such pessimistic and vile thoughts should take you aback. They should make you stop and think rationally for a moment, but they don't. They simply attest to the realization that being trapped inside of these walls is a fate worth than death. 

This is purgatory.

You’re not quite dead yet, but you’re not alive either. You’re dangling on the sickeningly mundane rope that stretches between paradise and oblivion. There are no hitches in the meaningless time-loop that you've found yourself locked inside of, not even the slightest rift in the pattern. Day after day you wake up from a fitful sleep, you wait for phone-calls that will never come, and then you return to your mattress on the floor. You’re doomed to endure the same meaningless hell over and over again until you rip the veins straight from your wrists. 

This morning you found yourself eyeing your kitchen-knives for just a moment too long. Finally pulled free from your depressive haze, you dug for your keys and decided to you drive your piece-of-shit car into the heart of Derry. 

This will mark the first time you've left your home since that thing creeped out of your bathtub. 

Your breath hitches as you tread through the streets, clinging to the back of your throat every time someone offers a passing smile. Despite your gut-wrenching loneliness; you've forgotten how it feels to be around other people. 

You peruse the streets, stapling dozens of your flyers. When you've ran out of places to staple flyers, you grit your teeth and begin your search for a new job. 

Reluctantly, you force a smile and you shake hands with every store owner, every restaurateur you can find. Their skin nearly burns the flesh of your palms, feeling foreign and alien to you now. It’s the first time you’ve felt a hand against your skin since that clown wrapped his fingers around your neck. 

It's the same tired excuse every time. They're already over-staffed, it's just not in their budget, you don't have the experience. 

After nearly twenty tries, it's hard the pride beginning to prod at the underside of your ribs like a dull blade.

You decide to try one last restaurant before beginning your sad retreat home. If you’d blinked you’d have missed it, and when you walk inside you can see that it's empty even by Derry's standards. Your mind can already hear the apologies in your head before you even walk inside to find the owner, a middle aged man named Bill. Quickly, and as expected, he sends you away with a sad smile. You don't know why you even bothered. 

As soon as you walk outside you pull a paper out from your bag and clumsily begin stapling it to a flier-free pole, but before you're even finished you hear the chime of the restaurant's door swinging open.

"Hey, wait!" Bill, the owner of the restaurant, rushes out to you; practically breathless. His eyes are fixated on your flier but he speaks to you with sincerity. "I think... I think maybe I can move something around." 

You can't stop your eyes from lighting up. "Please. It really would mean so much. I can't sit alone in my hou—"

"But you've... you've gotta be okay with minimum wage. Maybe in the future we can talk about more but right now I just... I don't have... You know..."

"I don't mind." 

He asks for your number and tells you to come back in a few days for your training. You thank him too many times and when you finally turn to leave you catch him staring at your freshly-stapled flier once again. A twinge of embarrassment courses through you. God knows what he must think about  _ that. _

You find yourself singing to the garbled radio on the drive home. Everything feels clear again; like a thick, somber mist has been suddenly lifted. When at last you pull into your driveway the sky and has turned a brilliant amber. Before walking inside, you take a moment to admire it; the way the soft, burning glow makes the outside of your home just a little less repulsive. 

A minimum-wage job at a small restaurant might seem pathetic, but it's one step closer to getting out of here. 

After a while your small flare of joy begins to burn out. You sink back to reality, travelling languidly down your hallway to sleep on the only piece of furniture you own. 

But this time, something happens when you close your bedroom door behind you. Something...  _ changes. _

Your door, the one you’ve walked through too many times to count, disappears. It takes your mind a few moments to register the fact that the yellowed, peeling-paint has become nothing but a row of padded cushions. 

_ What the fuck?  _

Your heart lurches as you grasp for the knob that was just there. Your fingers press desperately against the canvas pouches, probing for a seam, for any semblance of an opening. 

They find nothing. 

Fear slams into you like a violent wave. You're in one of those rooms that they cram psychiatric patients into in cheap, unnerving horror movies. It’s unnaturally empty, monotonous; like the inside of a casket. Nothing but soft, blank walls are suddenly on every side of you. 

You try to lift a hand to your mouth to clamp down on a scream but it doesn’t even budge. You look down and see that—  _ Oh God. _ You're in a fucking straitjacket. Panic floods through your veins like a poison and you writhe wildly against the fabric that wraps itself around you. Bile begins to rise in your throat, hot and choking. Beads of sweat seep from your pores, making the jacket even more unbearable against your skin.

"Good afternoon."

The low, tempered voice breaks the sound of your hastening breaths. You look up and see an old man in a lab-coat, holding a clipboard. His sudden appearance makes your body jerk with alarm, your heart-rate rising even higher. He's just sitting there, calmly; in a chair at the corner of the room that had been empty only seconds ago. Something in his eyes makes your stomach drop, like you're looking at something you shouldn't be. Suddenly you can hear a sound, almost a high-pitched whine, fading ever so slightly in and out of earshot.

The old man flips the paper on the clipboard and adjusts his glasses to peer over at you. "I'd like to ask you a series of questions. You wouldn't mind that; would you, dear?"

"Where the hell am I?" 

"I'd like you to rate your level of loneliness you've experienced within the last six months; with 'one' being the least lonely, and 'ten' being the most lonely. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?" 

"I don't know how I got here… I don't know what this is…” Your voice cracks and whines, like the mewlings of a terrified child. Your eyes accidentally meet his once again, and that sharp sound starts up again. “Please, just tell me. Is this real?"

"Please,” The old man repeats, a little more stern this time. “Just answer the question as honestly as you can. It's very important that you do." 

"I don't know. Maybe a... maybe a four?" Your voice feels as dry and small as it ever has before. 

You wait for what feels like an hour for him to scribble something down in his clipboard, for him to nod his head and put a pen to his lips, but he doesn't. He just stares at you as though you’re a specimen, as though you’re nothing more than a meaningless lab-rat. 

Then, without any hint of a warning, your straitjacket tightens. It clenches down on your flesh like a vice, wrenching your arms slightly yet painfully around you. You let out a startled yelp as you sink down to your knees in distress.

"Now Sweetie, I need you to please be truthful with your answers. I need you to be honest so I can best decide your course of treatment. I can't do that for you if you're going to lie to me, Darling." 

With those words your jacket loosens again, just by an inch or so. You gasp for air; struck with the realization that the straps can somehow sense whether or not you are telling, what some unnatural force in this room believes to be, the absolute truth. Every rational fiber in your being is screaming that this can’t be real, but you know the pain you just felt was no hallucination. You don’t know what’s in here, you don’t know what you’re up against, but you know better now than to fucking deceive it. 

"A ten!" This time you scream the answer out.

To your relief the doctor finally taps his pen to his brow, then finally stops to scribble something down into his notes. "Interesting, interesting." He adjusts his frail legs, leans in once again. "Alright, now. We’ll move on over to the next question. What level would you rate the intensity of your suicidal thoughts?" 

These questions feel set up for you to fail; despite being in the dark on the preciseness of this game, you try as best as you can to finally choke out an answer. "F-five?" 

The doctor pauses, then thankfully jots your answers down without tightening the restraints. He moves the pen quickly, almost carelessly, nodding his head with feigned interest.

This continues on for what has to be hours straight, each question more invasive than the last. Sometimes the straps tighten, sometimes they don't; but your heart lurches with every answer. Despite how it may appear, this doesn’t feel like a doctor examining a patient. It feels predatory, dark; like a black spider daring its prey to make the wrong move. 

At last the doctor uncrosses his legs and leans towards you, letting the clipboard rest between his thighs. "I have one final question. What level would you rate your fear?" 

"Ten!" You yell out, your voice stronger than you’ve heard it in months. "A ten, absolutely." 

You feel a wave of reprieve wash over you; wanting to sing with the comfort that this, whatever it may be, is about to be over. Your breaths become soft and deep, and you let free a small laugh. 

And then the jackets tightens. 

At first it just squeezes into you, a little harder than it did last. Your ribs become a bit more compressed, your muscles strain more firmly together. Then, it gets worse. You can feel the strap between your legs tightening this time, something that hasn’t happened before. It presses up into your vagina with a bruising force that feels as if it's going to rip you up the center. 

Terror widens your eyes and parts your lips into a hiss. "A nine!" You hear a loud pop, and pain hits your shoulder like a bolt of lightning. The jacket tightens so hard it separates your arm from its socket. You let out a throat-ripping scream and double forward in agony. "Eight!" Again, the restraints tighten. You can see red and black behind your eyes. You're not going to survive this one. 

Before you can even utter out 'seven,' the old doctor begins crying. He starts bobbing his head up and down dramatically. It's unnatural, like an unskilled actor auditioning for a role.

"You’re not afraid? You're not afraid of this?" The man’s voice changes, becomes higher. "You're not afraid of _me?"_

You try your damndest to scoot backwards and away, trying not to put pressure on your arms or back and failing. Fear cuts through the pain like a hot knife when the doctor suddenly begins convulsing, black foam pouring from his mouth. Frills spout from the lab coat and his arms and legs lengthen. Its face twists and contorts, changing from pink to white; from human to… that clown-creature.

_ Oh, fuck.  _

You scream and you scream until nothing but silence pours from your throat. You scream and you scream that you are afraid,  _ oh fuck, oh fuck, you're so fucking afraid _ but it leans forward out of the chair and inches towards you. You feel hot, frightened tears stream down your face and you can't understand how this thing could possibly think you aren't afraid of it. 

"I'm so afraid. I'm so scared.  _ Please,  _ Pennywise. Don't hurt me." The clown mocks you, flailing its enormous fingers around like a frightened schoolgirl. All at once it lunges towards you, growling through its words. "Stop lying! I can smell you."

You scream and you sob and you tell the clown again and again that you are, indeed, afraid.

"No...” It draws out the word, wavering its voice dramatically. “Not fear. Something sour." It bares its dripping teeth at you in a snarl. "Something  _ weak." _

Before you can even think to ask what its cryptic words mean, it rushes towards you again, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you into the air. Your windpipe closes shut; you kick and flail your legs wildly. Like a snake readying to swallow a meal, its mouth begins to unhinge. Its jaws curl around themselves, like the blooms of some carnivorous plant. Its teeth lengthen and sharpen; they multiply by the thousands. Its eyes roll back into its monstrous head and an orange glow brims out from its throat. 

You can feel yourself just on the edge of fainting. You pray it happens before it shoves your face into its mouth and eats you whole, but before you die you have to know. You whimper out, “What are you?” directly into the face of the monster. 

"What am I?” A voice rises from somewhere deep inside of it; low, distorted, unlike anything you’ve ever heard on this earth.

Your lip trembles as you fight to breathe, wriggling feebly in its tight grasp. Slowly, the clown’s face begins to morph back to its original state; somehow different this time. The whites of his eyes are as dark as the night, its once-yellow irises now the color of dried blood. 

Once it's done transforming it speaks again, its voice now squeaky and sinister and almost-human. “I am the thing that goes bump in the night. I am the monster under your bed.” 

More tears begin oozing from your eyes, and it drops you like you've become too hot, too disgusting and you hit the padded floor with a grunt. 

“I am everything you’ve ever been afraid of.”

It moves closer, drawing out more pathetic cries from you. The thing straddles your waist with its long thighs and sits on top of you, giggling. It leans down over you, shows you its hand that’s somehow turning into a paw, like some alienesque bear. Its nails become claws, shredding through the fabric of the gloves like tissue-paper. You close your eyes and sob as it rears its arm back, ready for the blow to your chest, but the clown stops mid-swing. 

“You do not have to pretend! You  _ enjoy _ this!” 

Your breath hitches in your throat as it swipes its talons over your chest, ripping open the jacket. Quickly, you tear yourself free with your unwounded arm, staring at it incredulously. 

“You like seeing Old Pennywise. Yes you do!” The clown shakes his head, his eyes now blue and wandering. “Yes you do!” It repeats this over and over like a broken toy, staring at the wall behind you as it drools.

_ “What?” _

Its eyes snap back into place, as if brought back from a trance. It lets out another giggle and scans you, smiling now. It leans in once more and sniffs you. “Not afraid. Broken. Cannot be afraid.” 

And then it disappears, taking the padded room and the remnants of jacket with it.


	5. A Box of Razors

It hurts, the way Bill looks at you.

He talks to you softly, as though he’s coaxing a wounded doe from the forest. He knows that this is more than just a job for you, he knows that you’re alone, and it makes you sick to your stomach. You wish he would look at you like a real person, like something that won't shatter to pieces if he moves too quickly towards it. You wish he would look at you the way he looks at _her._

You can constantly hear them laughing, sharing some secret that you’ll never know the answer to. You watch Bill’s eyes follow her hand to her mouth. You watch him watch her every day with unbreakable attention, as if she’s his favorite work of art. She smiles at him in that way that makes his face light up, her lips curving at the edges and flashing those perfectly whitened teeth.

You lie awake at night, curled on your mattress, thinking how much you would do anything to be looked at like that, to be wanted like that; like her.

Beverly.

You used to be beautiful too. Your eyes were full of stars, and people would hang onto every word that poured from your lips. You voice never wavered, your hands would never shake. You were elegant and kind, but most importantly wanted, and you would give anything to have that back; anything at all.

Sometimes, in the late hours of the night; you catch yourself thinking that if you had the chance, you might even kill for it.

No one is ever going to see you the way that Bill sees her. No one is going to drink the tears from your face like wine. No one is going lay flowers over the faded pink lines on your skin. You’ll be alone, in this forgotten place, until they lower your corpse into the dirt.

There’s only one thing that will make this stop, only one thing that can make this mind-numbing pain cease to torment you. When the sun finally sets you head out from the bar, knowing this will be your last walk home.

Nearly halfway through your journey, you hear the sound of brakes slowing to a stop, then an upbeat, “Hey!” from over your left shoulder. You halt your steps and turn. Bill’s car pulls over to the sidewalk and he turns his radio down. “Do you need a ride home?”

It makes your stomach turn to stone to tell him ‘no,’ but you can’t let him live with knowing what he took you home to do. He knew that you were lonely. He knew you weren’t okay. That memory would haunt him forever. It would claw at the back of his brain every time something reminded him of it, asking himself what he could have said to you on that ride home that would have changed your mind. He waves as he drives on, the pain of knowing he can’t help you flashing in his eyes.

There’s a box of old razors underneath the bathroom sink. You remember it frightening you the first time you found it, as if you were afraid it would begin calling and pleading for you to use it.

You fill up the tub with warm water, numbly removing your clothes and folding them neatly.

At least you don’t have to worry about anyone grieving over you. Bill will wonder why you did it, will think of you for a couple of days and then slap a help-wanted sign up in his window as if you never existed.

You sink down into the milky bath until the water comes to your breasts. You picture yourself sliding the steel down hard over your wrists again and again until you’re sure you’ll get it right.

You’re not afraid of what’s to come, but your chest heaves anyway. The now soggy box of razors clatters in your hand as you work to pull one out. Soon, it will be over. The life will drain from your eyes and into the water around you like you were never anything more than a fleshy-doll. The endless burden of being will be no more, and you’ll never have to feel any pain ever again.

You skim your thumb over the cool blade, almost ready now. There’s a lump in your throat, each breath feeling heavier than the last. Your loneliness scorches your bones, worse than the longest drought the earth has ever felt. Knowing just where to cut to set you free, you put the metal to your arm and steady your grip. You begin pressing down, hard, but before you can drag it more than even a hair-length you feel something pressing against the bottom of your thighs in the tub.

Confusion floods your mind, replacing the morbid determination. You spread your legs apart and up from the water comes a shining red balloon. Frozen, you watch it rise to the ceiling and bounce against it, as though urging to travel higher.

“Hiya, Kiddo!”

The balloon suddenly pops, drawing a startled flinch from your muscles. You jerk your head to the left, nearly groaning at what has suddenly appeared beside you.

It's the clown, sitting and leaning over the wall of the tub right next to your face. Its sudden appearance is jarring, but you have no reason to fear it. In a few moments it won’t be able to harm you, but even still you just wish it would fucking leave you alone.

“Please, just go away.”

It looks at you, smiling that awful painted-grin. “No.”

“What do you even want?” You shake your head, clasping the razor even tighter. “Do you wanna kill me? Huh? Is that it? Is that what you want?”

It watches you with those narrowed eyes, filled with evil and hunger. A growl gurgles in its throat, so low you hardly even notice it.

“Yeah? That’s it, right? Why you keep showing up here?”

The clown doesn't move, just keeps staring at you as though it's waiting for something. Its face is poised in an unmoving snarl, baring just the ends of its crooked teeth. You find yourself suddenly filled with frustration, gnawing at the back of your throat and making you shake.

“Well fuck you!” You shout at the creature, your voice breaking on the last word. Hot tears begin dripping into the bathwater, and you hang your head down in defeat.

After a few moments you feel a gloved finger suddenly sliding under your eye, wiping it clean. Too tired, too hopeless to pull away; you let it happen without a hint of movement or protest. Memories fill your head of loved ones, long ago, making this same gesture. Something pulls at your heart— you’re not sure of what to call it.

“No, no.” The clown begins speaking again in that unnaturally-pitched voice. It moves in closer to you, hopping awkwardly on its toes as it stays crouched. “Pennywise can fix it... Pennywise can make it all go away!”

You force yourself to look at it again, an easier task now that your vision is blurred. The sharp, grotesque lines of its mouth and eyes are softer; its skin not so rough and broken.

It turns its head in isolated movements as it speaks again, like the most frightening marionette you’ve ever seen. Its jaundiced eyes make you feel nauseous, glowing brighter as it asks you, “What… does she... desire?”

Your jaw stays clenched as you blink away your tears. Sniffling and turning to get a better look at it, you want to tell it that you don’t desire anything. You want to tell it that you just want to be left alone to die.

“Does she desire... money?”

You shake your head, repositioning the metal over your wrist.

"Does she desire... beauty?"  

Looking away from it altogether this time, you blow a puff of air from your nostrils.

The growl in its throat grows louder, its lips curling up into a smile. It’s as though it knows what it’s about to ask will get your attention again. "Does she desire... sex?"

You whip your head towards it, disgust and surprise tainting the pure solace you had worked so hard to maintain. You can’t help but raise your brows at the inquisition, jerking back from the thing as though it’s the last question you expected to hear.

"Ah! Yes!” The spirit’s words move faster now, excited and nodding its head eagerly. “Is that what she wants? Sex? Touch?"

A gloved hand reaches out to your bare shoulder, gliding the soft fabric over your wet skin yet staying bone-dry. You watch out of the corner of your eye as it runs its fingers over the same shoulder it had once ripped from its socket. Its lips are parted, dripping, in awe. It’s as though the thing has never touched something so gently before, as though it didn’t even know it was capable of it. 

Without a breath of warning, without a breath at all, it furrows its brows and blackens the whites of its eyes. Those terrible claws rip through the gloves and it takes a swipe at you, leaving two shallow scratches on your skin. Tiny scarlet beads burst from your flesh and drip down, and the pain sears and burns like a branding iron.

"Gotcha!" It laughs with wicked delight.  
  
You don’t even flinch away. You just hang your head and start sobbing again, almost screaming.

The thing beside you moves in even closer. Its scent reverberates in your nostrils, stinking of human shit and piss, filling your throat with the urge to gag.

“What does she… really… want?”

You put your hands to your face, still gripping the razors. The water ripples through the tub, pink swirling out from your freshly-wounded limb.

Quietly, so low and muffled you doubt it can even hear you; you whisper, “I can’t be alone anymore. I just wanna be okay again. I just wanna be happy.”

Yellow eyes locked onto your blood, it cocks its head just an increment to the side. “Happy…” The clown repeats the word back to you, as though it’s practicing saying it out loud.  
  
Its eyes become a brilliant blue again, as pretty a color as you’ve ever seen in a human, but you know it’s anything but. Even now, in this human-like form, its long pauses and incessant drooling gives it away. It's nothing more than one of those many-toothed fish that live deep in the ocean trenches, luring you in with its insatiable light.

“I can give you gifts, wonderful gifts… I can even make you happy.”

It must be able to sense the way that word makes your heart flutter as it escapes its wine-colored lips, because its voice becomes high and fast again.

“Yes! Happy! Pennywise can make you so happy…”

When its face suddenly darkens again, you think you can hear that high-frequency sound again, almost like a scream in the distance. It holds an open hand out to you, as though its asking for something, and you realize it means the razors.

You stare at it for a while, studying it as it studies you, like a mouse waiting for the snake to strike once before it flees. Finally your shoulders drop, and you surrender the blades over to the creature. It snatches them away without even breaking eye-contact.

“Ah, yes, good… Pennywise will make you so happy… Pennywise will give you everything you want…” Its lips curl into a grin, filled with malice and disease.

You feel it press against your ear, speaking into it now and sending a shudder through your spine.

“... And you need only do one thing for me.”


	6. Encouragement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It hasn't appeared to you again, but it's started to whisper.

At first it was just a whisper, climbing over the soft rustling sound of your broom against the restaurant’s floor. It was as if there was a second voice inside your head, almost too quiet to hear.

You know what it has to be from. That clown has crawled into your head, implanted its words in the confines of your mind. Your heart begs you to be afraid, to feel abhorrent, to scream at the thing to just fucking shut up, but you don’t.

You won’t.

You _can’t._

The sound is so beautiful you can almost taste it. The timbre of the voice is as sticky and sweet as honey, coating the inside of your ear as you work; chanting over and over.

 _“Please, please, pretty please._ ”

When Bill looks at you it hisses into your ear, begs you to smile at him.   
  
You do.   
  
It rewards you with a purr, a surge of warmth in your belly.

 _“Please, please, please. Just one thing. Just one little thing.”_   
  
When it asks you to speak to Beverly with warmth in your eyes instead of cold apprehension, you do.

The little voice buzzes, swirls, caresses.

_“How sweet, how swell, you’re doing so well.”_

There’s a wave of nausea that always comes after you leave work, as though the voice wants nothing to do with you when you’re alone. No matter how quietly you sit, how tightly you hold your breath, you can never seem to hear it whispering to you when you’re in bed at night.

It only seems to want you after you’ve walked through the doors of Bill’s restaurant.

Even so, you follow every little request, every simple command just like a dutiful wife. Its beautiful words are reward enough, so comforting you wish you could nuzzle your face against them.

One day the gentle chiming of Bill’s door silences the sound of the chanting.

You take one look at the man standing in the doorway, and the voice inside of you _sings_.

He’s holding a balled up piece of paper, so tightly his knuckles have long turned white. There’s something in his freckle-spattered face; something like fury. He storms past the podium, nearly toppling it over and you see something else hiding in his dark eyes. You recognize it as clear as anything in the world.

 _Fear_.

From the opposite corner of the bar you see Bill’s face contort from elated surprise to a swirl of confusion and panic.

“Eddie? What’s wro-”

“Is this some kind of a joke? What are these? What the fuck _are_ these?” The man’s voice starts to crack, high and low like a finger scratching against vinyl.

Bill’s face becomes desperate, hopeless; moving towards him in a hurry. Each time he tries to stutter out an explanation the smaller man cuts him off. “Why would you put these up? Are you trying to get it to come back here? Are you trying to wake it up?”

The smaller man is a hairline away from fracturing into pieces. You can hear his voice, his throat so strained it must be littered with scars of whatever the fuck is printed on that piece of paper.

When Bill puts his hand out to the man’s shoulder, it’s enough to make him come undone completely. Immediately, as though he’s had to do so a million times before, Bill wraps him into an embrace.

Still feigning interest in your own work, you steal glances as Bill whispers softly into his ear.

You look up again to see if you can make out the words, and you catch the man staring at you. His eyes are locked onto you so intensely that it takes you by surprise, sending a little jolt up the curve of your spine. He looks away, but you can see Bill glance at you from the corner of your eye as he continues to whisper to him.

Whatever Bill is saying, it’s about you.

When you look down into the other man’s hand you see that the piece of paper has come unraveled, facing towards you.

It’s crumpled and smudged, but you recognize it all the same.

Clutched tightly into this frightened man’s hands, as though it is the bane of his existence, is one of your fliers.

Your eyes go back to the ground, trying your hardest to calm the questions roaring through your head and the short breaths pouring from your mouth when that voice starts up again.

_“Such a good girl. Good. So very good.”_


	7. As Humans Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally understand what's happening here.

It’s already dark. The first cool winds of winter are beating hard against you as you make your way home, disappointed to find that the air of your living room is just as frigid as it was outside.

You’ve got to buy a fucking heater. There’s no way you’ll be able to survive the dead of winter in Derry without one. They’ll find you frozen, huddled up under all of your laundry like some bum.

Not even daring to bother peeling off your thick coat, you fall backwards onto your bed. _Frozen_ , you think to yourself as your pull your thick blanket to cover you. _Like a human popsicle. What a way to be remembered._

Your body rocks from the impact of your weight onto the worn-down springs, the way that it does every night, but there’s something different about it this time. The way the bed only bounces on one end, dips down beside you as though–

Suddenly you feel the hairs on your body stand on end, struck with the realization that you are not the only person in this bed.

There’s a long while before anything happens. You lie there motionless in the cool darkness, waiting for what has to be that clown to make a move or a sound so you can exhale. You weren’t afraid of it the last time it came to you, but this time is different. There’s something in the air, something deep in your gut screaming for you move away— to just fucking _run_.

At long last the thing stirs beside you. Like a dragon awakening from a long rest, its body twists and contorts; as though it had been lying there with its head on backwards.

Its sneering face now illuminated blue by the light beaming through your window, you can see that its eyes are nothing like they were the other evening beside your bathtub. What was once blue and filled to the rims with feigned innocence now glows as yellow as bile.

“What are you here for now?” Your voice is just a whisper. You hadn’t meant for it to be.

“I asked you to do favors, and favors you have done,” the thing croons with its rotten voice, “And now! You must be rewarded!”

“ _Rewarded_?” There’s no hiding the distrust, the look of panicked dread on your face.  

It doesn’t answer.

Instead it moves even closer to you, filling you with the overwhelming urge to pull away. It’s as though even under the thick feathers and cloth of the blanket you can feel its presence prickle at your skin. Perhaps this creature, whatever it may be, was never meant to touch a human being.

Afraid, you pull the sheets up over your mouth; muffling your words as you ask it, “What are you, really?”

“Why, I’m Pennywise! The Dancing Clown!”

“What… _else…_ are you?”

You watch its face change.

What you see in its eyes now is unlike any human emotion you’ve ever encountered. Without warning it springs, feral and roaring. It rips the blankets off of you all at once, pinning your arms above you and nearly crushing the flesh of your thighs. Its breath reeks of dead things. Your heart leaps against your chest, adrenaline and terror filling you up and escaping with a scream.

“ _Get off me get off me get off me_!”

The grip it has against your wrists is unforgiving. You feel the bones in your hands rolling against each other like pebbles before it finally releases your left arm. Your immediate instinct is to sit up, to try and break free. The second you try you feel an unforgiving blow to the side of your head, knocking you back down. Stars fill the blackness of the room. Pain, confusion, and horror dance against your eyelids in brilliant swirls of color.

_What's happening? What’s it doing? Fuck, what's happening?_

Once more you try to sit up, and once more the clown strikes you; laughing as it does so. Against your own volition, you feel yourself start to cry.

When you see its eyes travel down to the flesh of your belly, slightly exposed from your writhing; a new breed of terror begins to bloom. It’s that kind of unease that comes with walking home alone at night in a dress, that type of fear that no woman should ever have to revel in.

You feel something against you, cold, and your body jerks in response. Its gloved hand is now a scaly claw, like an enormous bird of prey. It lays its talons flat against your stomach, as though ready to sink deep into your organs.

_Please, no. Let me go. Please. Just let me go._

With its bare skin against yours; you can suddenly feel an odd surge, almost painful, almost as though you can feel the terribleness inside of it. Always eating, always destroying. There is no human inside of that clown-like suit; only a ravenous, cancerous hunger.

When it suddenly climbs off of you, you curl into yourself. You press your knees to your chest, feebly trying to stave off any more attacks from the deranged shape-shifter as it crawls back towards you like a serpent.

“It was only a game!” It cocks its head to the side, frowning now. “Aren't you having _fun_?”

The tears drip down the sides of your cheeks, tickling your neck. Exhaustion replacing the wave of dread that had washed over you, you wipe them off and clench them shut. You hope that when you open them again, the creature will be gone.

Not waiting for an answer, it lowers its voice and adds, “Weren't you _lonely_?”

And then it hits you.

In some sick way, this is your reward. This clown’s horrible presence, its awful touch; they were supposed to satisfy you, make that dull ache of loneliness go away for a while. You nearly feel yourself vomit at the way that it worked.

More pieces begin to fit together, coils turning and making this situation as clear as the day. It's been playing with you. This has all been, all continues to be; nothing but a perverse game of cat-and-mouse.

You don't know why, but suddenly the rules are clear. There’s a predictability in its unpredictableness, a pattern in the joy it finds in frightening and confusing you. It needs you for something, and it’s having the time of its life getting you to do it.

Bill, Beverly, Eddie. It’s been pushing you towards them all this time. It had been so pleased when your poster had brought Eddie inside of the bar, turned him into a cowering mess. There’s something sinister to it, something it wants you to do.

“Was that the favor?” You ask it with all the false-bravado you can muster. “Bringing Eddie into the bar?” When it doesn't answer you continue to speak, trying to ease your own nerves in the process. “You said I needed to do one thing for you. Was that it?” There's more silence, not even the sound of its growls that always seem to hum within its throat. You decide it’s safe to press on. “That was it? It's over?”

“Oh, _child…_ ” The creature laughs, puts its now-gloved hand out to brush hair from your forehead. “It’s hardly even started.”

With that it crawls off of you, creeps over to the corner of the room and paces the dust-coated floor like an ape.

“What are you d—”

Within a second the clown springs back over to the mattress. It slouches there with its knees opened, heaving, drooling, chittering, growling. It’s as though the human part of its façade has cracked open entirely, leaving nothing more than pure animal instinct.

You feel that familiar prickling of unease against your skin, dozens upon dozens of ice-cold needles. Something forms deep in your throat— something hard and dry.

"Are you… Are you going to... rape me?"

Instantly the eyes that had been poised in two different directions like a broken doll's snap back towards you. A grimace now surges over its face. "Rape..." It repeats the word back to you, low and grating, almost like it’s a question. It looks back at the wall, flinches away as though struck with some realization. “Rape.”

It leans down towards you, closes the distance between your bodies. You can hear its dripping wet lips sliding over its teeth as it smiles at you.

“You’re afraid now,” the clown growls out, looking almost surprised.

As hard as you try to hold it back, you begin to shake. That only seems to please him— it — making the grin grow even wider.

“You should be.”

It licks a strip up the side of your neck and face. That awful tongue slicks your skin with its drool, slithering and twisting unlike any human appendage you’ve ever felt. Vomit rises in your throat when you see the tentacle-like vessel protruding from its mouth and lapping against your jaw, pulsating and growing.

The familiar burn of disgust floods through your mind and your body. If you vomit like this you’ll choke to death on it. “Oh, God!” You scream. “Get off me! Just fucking get off of me!”

“God? ” The demented clown giggles, digs its talons deep into the padding of the mattress. “Oh, child...”

Suddenly you can feel something sliding over the junction of your wrists, your ankles. You feel your arms and legs being yanked open and apart as though they were all bound by rope, pulling each limb in a different direction and suspending you like a star-shaped hammock.

It's going to tear you apart.

Resting back on its knees, the monster finally retracts its long alien-like tongue and traces it over each one of its crooked teeth. Flailing and pulling against the ties on your arms you can see now the bright colors of them, like a magician’s ribbons. They're pulling you so tightly each different way, you're almost suspended completely off the bed like a perverse snow-angel.

“There is no God.” It hisses to you, looking now between your legs. “There is only me.”

You let out a scream. It's louder than any sound you’ve ever made. You twist and turn so wildly against the ropes you swear you’re about to rip a hand off all by yourself.

Tears begin to pour out of you like rain when you realize you can feel something at the edge of your panties, recognizing immediately the softness of its gloves.

“I’ve never understood you humans and your weak desires.” A single claw rips out from its finger. It uses it to trace against the cotton seams. “Your fear, your pain, yes of course ; for those I am the master. But your desires?” It ghosts the talon lightly against the thin cloth covering your groin.

It presses it down onto your clit.

“Never your desires.”

Red sirens, flashings of lights and sounds as loud as chainsaws begin ricocheting through your panicked mind. You urge your body to go still, a hard-fought battle against the pounding of your heart and heaving of your chest. One wrong move and its claw will pierce right through that bundle of nerves, make you feel more pain than you’ve ever imagined possible. You rear your head back, gripping onto the ribbons as tightly as you can and letting out another roaring scream. A nightmare. This is something from a nightmare.

Like an answered prayer its finger lifts and you gasp with relief, relaxing into the grip of the restraints.

Unfortunately the relief short-lived. Almost immediately you can feel it pulling at your underwear, trying to rip them off entirely.

“I— I can't! Please! ” You plead with it, hysterically. “Why would you want this? This doesn't make sense!”

A snarl rips from between the clown’s teeth. It slices down the ribbons bound to your feet so that your legs and ass fall down to the mattress with a soft thud.

“Pathetic child. Stupid,” The awful thing hisses to you, crawling in on you until its nose is close enough you can feel its breaths against your own. “To think I would ever do as humans do. To think I would ever want the things,” It wraps its fingers around your throat, just as it did that first night it appeared to you, “that I know you want me to do.”

For a moment it squeezes you, harder than it ever has before. You don’t even pretend to flinch away. You don't attempt to flail your arms and gasp for air and cause a scene. This is a dance, an odd display of its prowess.

You’re beginning to learn the steps.

And because maybe, just maybe, there's some truth to its words. Perhaps its presence truly is a reward. Perhaps you do want it to keep coming back to you, waiting for you in your room like a dirty secret. 

So for a while— until you know what will come next, you meet its gaze with curiosity and defiance. You watch its eyes, black and red like the hourglass of a spider fade back to periwinkle. You lock it into a stare until finally, as it has done so many times before, it goes away.

 


	8. Girly Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't know why it needs Eddie, or what it wants you to do with him. All you know is that you'd do anything to bring it back.

It stopped coming back. Why the fuck did it stop coming back? You asked yourself this over and over, scratching up and down your arms like some junkie on the street until at last you realized the truth. 

 _Perhaps,_ you thought to yourself as you watched Eddie through the window of the restaurant, _perhaps it's because what you're doing is no longer enough for it._

“It’s not all of us,” Bill had whispered to you one day, his blue eyes glistening with pain. “But almost.”

_The Loser’s Club._

Slowly but surely you’ve dug your way into their lives and planted yourself like a tiny weed. None of them have seen through the cracks in your smile, the one you've practiced night after night in front of the mirror. It curves naturally at the edges, flashes just the right amount of teeth. They've all been fooled by it, coming to you as easily as flies to honey.  
  
Well.

All of them but one.

It had been Beverly who had first caught you staring at Eddie. She made some snide remark out of the corner of her mouth, “ _The good ones are always married.”_ You’d looked back at her sharply, and she'd met your eyes back with something you had taken as a warning.

Only now, after learning more of his wife, you think perhaps it had been something else.

She is always there with him, even when she isn’t. Her fat thumb is constantly pressed down onto him as if he were nothing more than a spineless insect. You know it’s why he never looked at you— never touched you. Her words were ringing in his ears, telling him not to.

But even still, you’d catch him twisting at the silver band around his finger each time his eyes would dart away, as though the metal suddenly felt foreign to his skin. You could see the moral conflict in his eyes as clear as glass, wanting something but never ever moving towards it.

 _And that's a fucking shame,_ you thought to yourself one night on the walk home alone. _Because I think I need him for something._ You did. You just had to get a little closer.

The harder you’d try, the tighter his wife’s barbed leash would pull around his throat. Simply even getting him to answer one of your questions felt as if you were trying to rip the teeth from his head. You tried every approach, every bad joke, every chance to initiate physical touch until finally, _finally_ you found a chink in the armor.

It had been the warmest day of the year so far. The ice on the sidewalks had turned black, sloshing against the legs of your jeans as you pushed open the doors. Bill had been gone— something about his wife Audra—leaving Eddie to look over things. You can’t remember quite what it was, some lame crack about being “stuck there” with him and then there it was: a smile. You took that moment, polished it over and over in your head like a pearl until you knew just what to do to draw the last little fly in.

Eddie liked banter. He relished any chance he could use to make a quip, to show off that quick pink tongue of his. He loved to be teased, taunted, provoked. He enjoyed it all so much that at times it made your heart ache, fearing you were overstepping his dotted grey lines.

You took every opportunity you could; burrowing deeper into his thoughts and desires. The early signs of infatuation began to blossom in his eyes like amber-colored flowers, growing and blooming until you were sure that a part of him now belonged to you.

Now you can feel the others’ eyes on Eddie as he speaks to you, as though they too know what lies deep inside of his heart. There are days you can hear them whispering to him, warning him of the path he’s beginning to head down.

_“Myra’s still your wife, Eddie.”_

_“I’ve seen the way you look at her. We all have.”_

_“Please don’t do anything stupid, Eds.”_

_“What will Mrya do?”_

_“What if Myra finds out?”_

_“Think about Myra…”_

_“Myra.”_

_“Myra.”_

_“Myra.”_

That stupid name begins to feel like a curse-word, sending hatred through your veins whenever you hear it. It’s not only the fact that she’s holding you back from gaining what you want. It’s something else, something more, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

Maybe it’s the way the light in his eyes dies whenever he mentions her. Maybe you can see what the others are too close to see, shielding their eyes from the blindingly bright red flags that are right there under their noses. Her neverending dependency, her sickening words of degradation, the way she preens and obsesses over him like a worried mother hen—

 _That’s it,_ you discern one cool evening after they’ve left together. _Myra reminds him of his mother._

You catch yourself deep into your thoughts, getting far more involved than you should be. You know you’re getting too close to the target, being sucked just as much into his life as he is into yours. Each night you climb into bed thinking, _I must have done what it wanted. Why isn’t it coming back? I’ve gotten closer to Eddie than any of the others._

“What more could you possibly need from me?” Your whispered words pierce the darkness of your room, hoping somehow it will hear you but never quite knowing for sure.

And that’s the worst part, not knowing.

Is it here or is it gone? Has it crawled back to the dark abyss from which it was birthed? Is it somehow everywhere, filling up all of the hollow places in Derry? Is it deep within your closet; lying, seething, waiting; as low and as silent as graveyard mist?

Does it watch you? Do its housecat eyes follow you as you take off your clothes, slip naked into the bath? Does it see you when you dream? Arching, moaning, yearning for it to come back; begging it to pin you down against the bed agai—

A flash of abhorrence strikes behind your eyes. What are you _doing?_ What are you even _thinking?_ This thing— it’s not even benevolent— it’s not even _human_. It's toying with you, testing you. You know this. And what's worse? You're allowing it.

Oh please. Who are you kidding? You're _embracing_ it.

But no matter your reasons, no matter where it may be, you know it will come back whenever you give it what it wants. It always does.

“Are you sure you’re okay walking home alone?”

Eddie stares up at you in concern, his ink-black brows furrowed together as you throw on your coat. Bill had asked him to close up tonight, the way he's done an oddly frequent amount of times lately. You let out a small laugh as you pull the zipper closed, smiling just a little now. “I walk home alone every day.”

“I know,” Eddie confirms, “But not this late at night.”

You both know that’s not true. You’ve walked home dozens of times before, much later than this. He just wants a reason to spend more time with you. 

Just when you’re readying to decline— you’ve never let any of them see your shithole excuse for a home— it suddenly hits you. _Home. He wants to walk you home. It’s a chance to get closer than he’s ever been before, closer to the clown than you've ever brought him._

Eddie’s face lights up like the sun when you finally tell him ‘yes’. You can’t help but to bite down hard on the inside of your cheeks as he holds the door open for you to leave. _It’s just a walk home_ , you remind yourself. _He won’t come inside._

Contrary to what your gut was warning you of, the walk is actually nice. It feels safe, comfortable. You can’t remember the last time you felt that. Eddie rambles, you tease him; it works. You can see how hard he’s struggling to fit as much conversation as he can into just a few minutes, stopping only when he steps right into a salty black puddle.

“Fuck!” Eddie exclaims, grimacing.

“It’s just a little puddle.” You watch in amusement as he panics over the soaked leg of his pants. “You’ll be okay.”

The small-framed man stops, turns to glare at you despite the glimmer in his eyes. “Yeah, but it’s a _disgusting_ puddle. It's all black and filled with God-knows-what.”

“I think it’s probably filled with water.”

“Don't be such a pest.”

"Don't be such a _girl_."

Eddie flinches away. It’s as though your words have slapped the skin of his cheek. You see a flicker of pain in his face, and even though you don't understand why it's there, it severs a cord somewhere deep in your chest.

"I don't know why I said that. I didn't mean—"  
  
"It's okay."

Eddie stops walking and you realize you're almost home. _Funny_ , you think to yourself. _It feel as though you've just left Bill's._ He turns to you, like he has all those times before, but he doesn't just wave you goodbye and begin his journey back. This time he curls his lips into a smile. His cheeks dimple at the edges and you see real warmth in his face. For the first time since you've met Eddie you find your mouth empty, speechless.  
  
As you're racking your brain for some lame joke or friendly tease to cut the silence he leans into you, puts his hand on the junction between your neck and shoulder.  
  
At first you can't help but jerk away. No one has touched you this softly in a very, _very_ long time. The sensation is almost alien to you now.

But then you lean into it. You close your eyes, letting the both of you revel in the way his warm fingers press lightly against your pulse. You think you could stand this way for hours.

All too soon he takes his palm away.

Your eyes fly open and downwards, fumbling like a babbling schoolchild for the words. ““Well, I— uh… This is my street.” It isn't. You just don't want him to see now where you live— _how_ you live. “Guess I better… You know. Get ready for bed and whatever.”

Something spreads across Eddie’s face— maybe shame. “Yeah, me too.” He slowly starts backing up, throwing a friendly punch to your shoulder and cocking a half-grin. “I’ll see you soon though.”

You throw a wave up in response, waiting for him to disappear out of sight before heading further towards home. You can still feel his hand on your skin, stepping down the concrete sidewalk onto the road to cross the street. _He touched me. He reached out and touched m—_

As you try to take another step with your right leg, something grabs it. Your body lurches forwards, slamming you down onto the wet gravel. Ferocious pain slaps through your muscles and bones like a bolt of lightning, setting every one of your nerve-endings on fire.  Groaning, you rear your head back to see what you could have fucking possibly caught your foot on.

It takes your mind a few moments to register the object sticking out of the blackness of the sewer grate and furling around your ankle.

Grasped just above your shoe are five very long, very white gloved fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert for the next chapter: there's gonna be some sex.


	9. Better Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teratophilia: the sexual attraction to deformed or monstrous people

It’s not fear that rumbles in your chest at the sight of its eyes glowing in the darkness of the drain. After all, this is what you wanted. This is what you were trying to bring back.

The clown holds your ankle in its cruel and callous grip, squeezes it so tightly you can envision the bruise beginning to form underneath. Hissing and baring its teeth, you watch its face begin to change into something out of your worst nightmares. It releases your leg with a growl, digging its now monstrous-claws into the very gravel of the road as if it were nothing but wet clay.

Now comes the time for fear.

“I think you’d better run on home now, little girl,” the thing in the sewer seethes. “Yes, that’s right! I think you better run. _Better run, run, run._ ”

You waste no time, flinging yourself onto your feet and sprinting towards the orange light of your windows. It pulls itself out of the drain; you can sense it changing and growing behind you. The pounding of your heels against the sidewalk is deafening— louder even than the sound of the demon slithering, lumbering, scampering after you.

You make it as far as the front steps before something grasps at the hem of your jacket, pulling it against you so harshly that the cheap fabric rips and pulls entirely off. Bolting inside, you slam it shut, making quick work to slide closed every lock you have.

It’s there within seconds, crashing into the door so hard the entire frame bevels out. You can’t help but back away, watching in morbid fascination as the unknown beast rams itself repeatedly into it, roaring unlike anything you’ve ever heard in your life. Tiny clasps of metal pop off of the hinges and clatter onto the floorboards lock by lock until just one more push should send the entire wall down. You bite your lip until you taste iron on your tongue, waiting for the giant monster to break through but it never does. The air grows so still and so silent that after a few moments you can hear crickets beginning to scrape their legs together again.

At last a sweet little voice comes seeping in through a crack in the old wood.

“Let me in. Oh please, oh _please_ just let me in.”

“No,” You croak out, horrified at the ominous contrast in the way it's speaking to you now.

“ _Please_ , child… let me in.”

“No, this isn't how I— _No_.” Your voice is higher in pitch, almost like a whine, pleading for it to turn around and leave. You don't know why you wanted to bring it back; what you could have possibly thought would happen, but this certainly isn't it.

“Pretty… _pretty_ please.”

“No.”

_“Please.”_

This time the voice comes from behind you.

You nearly leap out of your flesh at the sight of the clown’s garishly painted face so close to yours, dropping your heart down deep into your belly. Something flickers in its eyes— something you’ve never seen there before. It’s narrowed them into slits, two black crescents floating in pools of pus and blood.

As quick and as fluid as a shark it circles you. You turn with it as it goes, knowing better than to let it out of your sight.

“You’ve been doing great work for me, little friend.” Pennywise takes one long, drawn-out step towards you; as menacing and as evil as it’s ever seemed before. “So sweet, so swell, so very _very_ well.”

“I tried.” You force out, voice shaking as you inch back from it. “Did I do what you wanted?”

Without bothering to answer, the shape-shifter starts to drool. “So very sweet. So very good. So very _weak_.”

With a hand reached out behind you, you feel to make sure it doesn’t back you up against a wall. You bide your time this way, taking the smallest of steps backwards down your hallway.

“I waited for them to come.”

_“What?”_

“I watched them grow. I watched them change. I watched them rut each other like bunny-rabbits; mindless and frail and putrid. They have never once failed to prove how _disgusting_ they truly are.”

You’re vaguely aware that you’ve backed up all the way into your bathroom. There’s something about the way the lights in your bathroom glisten off of its skin, making this form seem the most terrifying of all.

“Well,” Pennywise corrects itself with a grin, “At least on the outside.”

At once it reaches out to your chest, bundling up a fistful of your shirt into its hand. Like it were made out of tissue-paper the clown rips it away, exposes your bare chest to the cool air. Your lips part in surprise; there's no way to stop the gasp from spilling forth.

“And you, little friend,” It draws its snake eyes over the valley of your breasts, as emotionless and as unimpressed as you’ve ever seen anything look before in your life. “Are certainly no exception.”

You could try to run. You could shriek as loudly as your throat could bare, pray that one of the neighbors happened to hear you. You could cover your breasts. You could push that low, warm thrum of pleasure down— deep down and pretend that it was never even there.

Instead you watch with doe-like eyes as it drops to its haunches, drag its claws down the front of your jeans. Like ribbons the denim splits apart beneath its touch, offering only the slightest hint of resistance against it monstrous hands. You hardly even notice that its talons have taken tiny pieces of your flesh with them, leaving brilliant red patterns on your thighs.

“I was going to eat you, you know.” Pennywise chimes, standing up again. “It would have been so _easy_ for me, had it not been for that _disgusting_ smell.”

When you try to take another step backwards and find that the backs of your knees are pressed flush against the cool porcelain wall of your tub- you can’t hold it. You start to cry. You cry because you’re ashamed, because you’re _afraid_ , because you don’t know why you do the things that you do. You cry for your pain, you cry for the gaping hole inside you, and you cry for the dark and inescapable pit you’ve fallen into.

“Stop that. Why do you do that? It will not help you.”

But you can’t stop. The tears continue to pour, racking your chest with each pathetic sob.

With a loud hiss the clown rushes in towards you, closes the space between your bodies. It takes your jaw into its gloved-grasp, inspects the black streaks your mascara has made down the hollows of your eyes and plains of your cheeks. “Filthy,” it murmurs, malice spreading over its face. “But we will fix that.”

Pennywise gives you no time to part your lips in inquisition. It shoves you all at once backwards off of your feet. There’s a flash— a tiny burst of light as your skull cracks against the back corner of your bathtub. Then, as black and as cold as the night sky, there is only darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I KNOW I said there'd be sex in this chapter but I couldn't resist splitting this one up into yet another chapter I'm SORRY it just feels right this way and not all together. But don't worry! There will definitely be some clown-administered dicking in the next chapter (which will actually be posted very soon)


	10. Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aquaphobia: the fear of water, the persistent and irrational fear of drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My God what have I done

Suddenly, there is water.

Well, maybe not all at once. Judging from the way you’re half-floating, half-bobbing up and down you think perhaps you may have been passed out in it for a while now. A metallic and soapy taste surges through your nostrils, down your throat as you cough and sputter and try to simply fucking _breathe._

There's a ringing, a single pitch drawn out in a constant line across your cochleas. The sound is sharp and unforgiving, stabbing so deep into your ears it feels as though two ice-picks have been jammed through them. Below the ringing, you can hear the rushing of the spout as it spews more and more milky liquid into the bowl. Clumsily, you reach for the handle; trying to turn it off. That’s when you see two sets of fingers in front of you instead of one, a phantom hand following your movements like a translucent shadow.  
  
_Fuck. Something isn't right._  
  
You think your head is bleeding. You're too afraid to reach back and check but you think it is. _You’re hurt_ — _bad. Oh, Jesus. Oh, fuck._ Fear and confusion pull you in and out of consciousness like a puppet on a string. At last you’re able to force yourself up out of the tub, before falling back all at once into blackness.  
  
When you finally open your eyes again the water is up to your chin.

It flows out over the edges and swamps the entire area of your bathroom, seeping underneath your door and into your hallway like a bleeding cut. There’s a small victory when you realize that your vision has returned to normal, and at once you kick the faucet closed with all the force you can muster. The dull throbbing at the back of your skull is still there— dangerously unignorable, so you hug your knees tightly to your chest in the water and pant like a wounded dog to prepare yourself once more to climb out.

 _You need to get up. You need to get up and you need to get out of here and you need to call an ambulance. You need to get away before the fucking clo_ —  
  
Out of nowhere, something rises up and glides through the water towards you. Hair, dark and plastered to an alien head, parts the surface. Two crocodilian eyes emerge, glaring impossibly deep into your own.

"Do you see now, little friend?" Pennywise’s hand reaches towards you, wrenches deep into your hair. _"Now,_ I can hardly even smell you at all."  
  
Before you can even take another breath its mouth is upon you, pressed at the space where your neck and shoulder meet. Its teeth clash right at the junction where Eddie's hand had so gently held you and you can't help the way you arch into the gentle grazing of flesh to fang.

In an instant Pennywise pauses, jerks your head back so swiftly that for a moment you think your neck has been snapped. Those two rotten, broken teeth pierce deep into your skin with a sickening ‘pop’. The frightened, raw, animal part of your instincts shriek at you to push back and away. Instead, you lean even harder into the bite as though its foul-smelling saliva were laced with heroin.

Pain and pleasure course through your veins, fusing together so well that after a moment you can hardly even seperate the two. At last it pulls away, but not before lazily dragging its tongue over the wound one last time. Its pupils are blown-out, two enormous black diamonds; as though the taste of your blood had brought it right to the edge of ecstasy.

“Why?” You ask, and its eyes shrink back. “Why are- what are you… _why?”_

It doesn’t move a muscle, all except for the narrowing of its eyes as it rubs its vocal cords together in a bone-chilling growl. "An eye for an eye... a tooth for a tooth... _a favor for a fuck..._ "

There’s no more inner-turmoil. There’s no more self-torture or the digging of your heels into the ground in hopes to save your humanity. When you cry for the little voice inside of you to shine a light on the true nature of this being, to beg you to ask yourself what is so broken inside of you to make you think that you would ever want this; you are met only by silent darkness.

 _So do it._ You silently beg the clown. _Fuck me._

As though it has consumed the thought right from your head, it gives you a smile.

Still, there's something in the way that foul word spills from its mouth like sewage. It _despises_ it. It _abhors_ it. Does it even _understand_ it? Does it even know _how?_ The way that it hates everything that is human, the way that it detests their pleasures and desires; it finds no joy in this. Your skin must feel like hatred to the touch, rancid meat that it can never devour yet can neither throw away.

But it touches you anyway.

Its damp gloves coast over the length of your bare stomach and chest. There’s no sensuality in the way that it rubs you, only a stoic curiosity. Its fingertips slide down the hills of your shoulders, the peaks of your breasts, the dip of your naval; inspecting oh so carefully lower until— _Oh, yes. There. Right there._

A long, bony digit pushes its way inside of you. You bite down hard on a gasp and its eyes go wide, almost as though it were filled with wonder at the way your body allowed entrance. “That wretched little hole.” Pennywise muses, crooking and turning the glove-clad finger to inspect every place inside of you. “The one that turns men to monsters, women to _prey.”_

There’s no stifling the gag that lurches in your throat at at its words; but you rock down onto its knuckles anyway, trying desperately to get it to strike that delicious spot inside of you. As though suddenly revolted by your haplessness, it rips the finger out of you.

For a moment there is only a pause, a long expanse of nothingness; just staring hungrily at one another. The air grows cool and still, drawing up stream from the surface of the bathwater.

The lights in the bathroom begin to flicker. You’re not quite sure if it’s simply your shitty wiring or if it truly is the black power of the clown but before you can even dwell upon the thought your knees are grasped and spread violently apart. Anticipation and arousal blossom deep within your belly at the grip it has on your thighs.

Pennywise’s face clamps perfectly into a snarl when it closes the space between your bodies and presses your back against the wall of the tub.

“Oh child.” The thing cocks its head to the side to look at you pitifully. Its yellow eyes become blue once more and it ever so gently runs a thumb over the fresh mark on your neck. “You have always been my _favorite_ toy.”

All at once you feel something balmy pressing against your entrance, and your body jerks away in response. That only seems to please it, drawing a sickly sweet grin from its face as it moves the hand on your shoulder to wrap around your throat. It holds you in place this way, and you can't stop the flood of adrenaline that breaks through your chest.

"Ah, _yes_." Pennywise sneers, sinking its hips in deeper. "I have always been so curious.”

With that it is inside of you— all of it. The pain cuts through your cunt like a knife, too big and too deep for you to feel anything other than the horror that it might break something within you. Each slow drag of its cock in and out is excruciating; any wetness between your legs rinsed away by the scalding bathwater. You can feel every terrible inch as it drags the flared head out, presses it all the way back in with a grunt.

Its first few thrusts are shaky, erratic; but soon it sets a savage and inhuman pace. You feel the wet material of its suit brush against your swollen clit as it moves and at last, a tiny burst of pleasure. It then grows, expands, courses between your legs like hot metal until at last you’re arching your back upwards to meet its brutal thrusts.

“Yes, please, yes, please, _more.”_ Your words are deep, breathy; dripping with a lust you never thought you were ever capable of. This thing, this clown, _oh God yes_ it's so good, so _good_ , reaching all of those lovely places inside of you with such vigor.

Every movement is unforgiving, as though driven only by hatred; dragging your hips against the porcelain as it fucks you. Its body slams into you like a violent wave, eventually causing you lose your white-knuckle grip on the frills of its suit.

Your head drops back into the water without warning. There’s a sharp burst of terror, and the sudden sensation of drowning.

Then all at once, everything changes.

You part your lips to plead with it to stop, to scream for it to pull you back up, and you find your mouth filled with saltwater. There is no more bathtub. There is only the massive, deadly expanse of the sea.

Still achingly deep inside of you, you can feel it inhaling that tiny burst of fear and spinning it into chaos. There is darkness, hunger, death, all filling your womb like lead and sinking your body down deeper into the water. Briny fluid seeps deep into your mind and fills up your eyes as it fucks you, unable to separate reality from the horrific visions it’s putting inside of you.

At last it allows your face to rise back over the surface of the water, giving your body only a taste of the oxygen it so desperately needs. _You’re alone now_ , you think, panicking; trying to catch the indigo water between your fingers. But you aren’t. Flashes of your bathroom come into your mind like a strobe light as Pennywise turns you around, bends you over the cool arm of the tub.

Like an animal it wraps itself around you, shoves itself inside of you from behind and sends you spiraling deep into the petrifying trenches. Sea monsters sail over your head like planes in the abysmal sky. Fat, slimy leeches latch against each crevice of your skin and suck the blood right from your veins. Flashes of autumn-colored scales swarm behind your eyes, ripping off tiny mouthfuls of your organs and flesh until there is nothing left but bone.

Once more it lets you catch your breath, and when your head breaches the surface you swear you can hear it laughing. Again; it fucks back into you and sends you back down into the horrifying, watery graveyard. The sand at the bottom of the ocean, the mud at the end of the lake; they both— like the clown— fill you up and drag you into the blackness. Your screams travel to the surface in bubbles, bursting like thousands of crystalline balloons.

In the end you can’t stop it.

It hits you over and over, right in the sweetest of places until the pleasure becomes stronger than the burning in your chest. A brilliant orange light erupts deep within the leagues of your mind. You cum, as hard as you ever have before; drowning on the way its hisses and groans sound like music above the surface.

When at last your head comes over the final crashing of waves, it is gone. All that’s left is the dripping of water onto the tiles beside you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this: don't worry, there is much more weird alien-demon-clown sex to come. THANK YOU GUYS FOR READING!!! Your kudos and comments are SO appreciated I NUT


	11. Kiss, Fuck, Kill

The first time Eddie kisses you, his lips taste like whiskey. The cool, metal frame of his glasses presses against the bridge of your nose and he gnashes his tongue against your teeth. Warm saliva slides down the edge of your chin as though he's never kissed anyone before in his life. It’s just like whiskey, smooth and malted and hot; but you push him away as though his mouth was filled with poison.  
  
There's confusion; a quick pang of hurt in his face at the way your lips tear so violently away from his own. Then at last, there is understanding. "I shouldn't have done that." Eddie whispers. His breaths come out harsh and deep now, turning to clouds in the dark air. “I’m so sorry. I really shouldn’t have done that.”

He thinks it's because of his wife. He thinks you pulled away because the thought of hurting an innocent person is more revolting than giving into your own sick and burning want. He’s not wrong, not completely. But what Eddie doesn't know, is that the want that flickers so deeply inside of you burns for someone— _something—_ else.

He has no idea that the thought of his skin against yours now makes your stomach churn like butter. His voice, his eyes, his touch; they've all turned as bitter and as useless as ash. Day after day you dart your eyes away from his own, racing home to keep him from trying to walk with you again. Every step he takes towards you you’re sure to take twice as many away.

You know that you won’t be able to bring it back again like this. You know that it only wants you when you’re pulling one of them into your web, binding them up with your cheap words and your pageantry smiles. It hasn’t been back. You’d like to keep it that way.

A trip to the emergency room, a week of scrubbing yourself between your legs, feeling broken and filthy and pathetic all at once. You let it— no, _begged_ it— to crawl over your body and shove its sickness inside of you. Every inhuman, evil, fear-feeding inch lodged so deep inside your cunt that nothing will ever rid you of the memory. The self-hatred is still there, like a knife in your back. Always. Fucking. Hurting.

Days crawl on, and you tell yourself again and again that you are whole without it. You bow your head and you work, like a dog, saving every scrap of cash you can to just get out of this shithole-town. You were so much more before you came to this place. You were a real person; not just some fucking empty shell of a girl with no friends and no purpose. You meant things to people. You were a hero. You were _good._

 _Never again_ , you tell yourself with your fists clenched so tightly they begin to shake. This twisted, soot-black chapter of your life must come to an end. Never again will you do anything to bring it back here.

You won’t.

You shouldn’t.

You can’t.

Well.

You _could._

So the next time you're alone with Eddie you make sure to grab him by the hem of his coat before he leaves. Desperately, you suck his tongue into your mouth but this time it doesn’t taste like whiskey. This time it tastes like regret.

Oh, what have you done? _What have you fucking done?_ You ask yourself this over, nearly sprinting home. The tears on your cheeks feel like droplets of ice as you rush into the wind, flinching at every footstep and cracking of branches around you. A black cat darting in front of you, a scarecrow in a field, the cloaked man standing under the streetlamp; you know that it could be any of them. Watching, waiting, hunting.

You brought this upon yourself; there’s no excuse for fear or for surprise now. That’s why your pulse remains steady when you walk into your bedroom and find it crouched on your mattress. Drool is already dripping from its teeth, staining the cheap fabric as a smile creeps over its face.

_“Child.”_

At once you turn around to flee. The door slams shut seemingly on its own and you can’t stop the startled yelp that escapes your lips. It worries you that each time it comes to you, it shows you more of what it can do.

The clown’s grin becomes wider, flashing those yellow devil-eyes. “Now, now. There is no need to run, little thing! I am here _all_ _for_ _you_.”

Like a toad, Pennywise leaps across the room towards you. A familiar prickle of fear nags at your gut when it stands up fully, shows you again just how big it is compared to you in this form. It truly is a monster, in every sense of the word.

A soft growl rips from its lips as it pushes you back onto the piss-stained bed. Chest-heaving, you throw your arms up and try desperately to stop it as it rips your blouse open and leaves it hanging on your shoulders.

“Stop!”

It lets out a laugh. “You do not want me to stop.”

With surgical-precision it slices open the crotch of your pants and underwear; simply rips them away as if they’ve offended it. That wicked tongue slides out of its mouth, traces spit-slicked lines on your thigh.

“I take it back!” You cry out at the sensation of its wet vessel so close to your sex. “I kissed him for me, not for you! I don’t want you here anymore. You’re— you’re evil! You’re _nothing!”_

"Nothing?” Pennywise chuckles, drawing its tongue back into its cavernous jaws. “I am the eater of worlds. I am eternal—"  
  
"I'm not scared of you!"  
  
"— and you, my little one, are a terrible liar."

Your eyes widen as it shows you its black, clawed hand. Its talons are longer, sharper than you’ve ever seen them before.  

"You were brave at first. That, I will give you. So confused... so alone... so foolish." It rests the claws on the soft flesh of your exposed belly, sending a raw surge of terror through your veins. If it puts them all the way inside of you now, you would surely die.

“Please... Don’t…”  
  
"But it was not all your fault. Lonely humans are always the most _stupid."_  
  
"Fuck y—"  
  
"Tell me," Pennywise jeers, pierces the tips of each claw into your skin. "How afraid were you when I took you?"  
  
Pain erupts through your nerve-endings like a bolt of lightning. _“No! Fucking st-stop!”_

“Did you cry for your mother when the water seeped into your lungs?”

Deeper inside of you those awful things go. Just as always, you begin to cry.

“How did you feel when you thought you might die?”

When the claws delve even further into your flesh, you feel your eyes roll back into their sockets. All of the feeling in your face vanishes; and just when the darkness is about to take full control, it slides them all out of you and rests back onto its knees.

“Do not leave so soon, little friend. Our fun is only just beginning.”

Groaning, you instinctively place a hand over the five puncture-wounds on your stomach. It wrenches your arm away without hesitation, leans down and hungrily licks up every drop of blood as it pours from your flesh. When it pulls back its eyes are stark-white, sunk back into its head like it’s cumming. Head tossed back and lips parted gently; it's almost beautiful this way.

Stars are swirling behind your eyes, and you almost don’t even notice it pulling itself free from the folds of its Victorian-era suit.

The sun has not yet dipped below the horizon, and in the last weak rays of light you catch a glimpse of it this time. Swollen, violet veins spiderweb out through the length of it; a contrast to the paleness of the base. The size and shape of it is gnarled and grotesque, as if it made itself this way to you remind you that it is not a human being.

“Will you scream again the way you did under the water?” It cocks its head, smiles softly. “I hope so.”  
  
When at last it presses against you it's cold— so very cold. A hiss leaves your lips, digging your nails into the bed. It feels as though ice is parting your walls, gliding inside of you with ease. You see its eyes flicker for a moment, glossing over with something that looks like pleasure before snapping back to feigned disinterest. Warmth pools in your belly at the confirmation that no matter what this thing tells you, a part of it enjoys this.

Your body melts into the bed when at last it begins thrusting, a deliciously tortuous pace. The pain in your stomach, the reservations in your mind; they all disappear with the primal sensation of being filled, joined, touched— fuck. It's so good. It's so good. Its hips undulate towards you at varying speeds, always keeping you guessing and gasping in surprise when suddenly it begins slamming into you. Its eyes are red and black and narrowed; fully concentrated on watching its thick alien appendage as it vanishes over and over into your tightness.  
  
"You like this." You manage to pant out, breathless; and it almost sounds like a question. "You said you didn't like this. I think that secretly you do."  
  
At once one of those gloved-hands releases its grip on your thigh, comes up to cover your mouth. The fabric is hot and choking, reeking of sewage and blood.  
  
"I could rip your head from your shoulders."  
  
With that, it drags its fingers to clutch around the side of your jaw and base of your skull. You try your hardest to push down the tiny spark of fear that follows its threat but Pennywise catches it anyway. In one long, wet drag it slips out of you with a vile shlicking sound. It places its palms under the now-sweaty crooks of your knees and presses upwards, bending you nearly in half.  
  
"In fact, I could hurt you anyway I please." Pennywise continues darkly, lining back up with your entrance. "And oh how hurting you _pleases me."_  
  
This time when it presses back into you it doesn't feel like a cock— it feels like a baseball bat. It must have changed it, made it impossibly bigger than it was a moment ago. All you can do is gasp.  
  
"What's wrong, little one? Clown got your tongue?" The laugh that explodes from behind its teeth is infuriating as you struggle to relax your muscles around it. Something this big has never fit inside of you before. Something this big should never be able to fit inside of you. You think your heart might stop. You bury your nails into anything they can find, letting out a sharp and pain-filled hiss.  
  
"I— Oh, God. I don't think— _fuck."_  
  
"If you insist."  
  
A scream rips from your throat as Pennywise starts fucking you again, harder and faster than ever before. Pain, sheer muscle-ripping pain lights your brain on fire.

“Ah, that’s it, little one. I knew you could scream for me.”

Broken whimpers and sobs spill from your lips, seeming only to encourage its deep and rough pace. It feels like hours before the discomfort ebbs, drawn away by how its too-large head slams against that perfect place inside you. Soon, each sound you make begins echoing back to you as the creature gleefully mocks your own lust-filled cries.

Pleasure, more loud and demanding than you've ever known before, returns like a blow to the stomach. Your back arches off of the bed and each movement becomes too much, too decadently close to pushing you over the edge for you to bear.  
  
"That scent..." Pennywise begins, and when you look up at him his eyes have lost their burning hunger.  
  
You're so close, so close; and just when you feel those first sparks of your climax bubbling up from inside you— Pennywise pulls himself out of you. Every trace of built-up tension disappears, leaving you dripping wet and empty.

“No,” You cry, hating the whine in your voice. “Please, don’t stop.”

The creature laughs that unmistakable laugh right into your face, reveling in the power it has over you like this. "Pathetic little thing. How far would she go to keep me here? What all sorts of _disgusting_ things would she do, just to keep me inside of her?"

"Anything.”  
  
"Anything?" It rubs the mangled, enormous tip over your abused clit and entrance, teasing you now.

There's no stopping the gasp that spills from your lips, craving so deeply to be filled once again.

" _Yes._ Please, I would do anything. Please— just let me come."  
  
Its face darkens into a smile, flashing every single one of its needle-like teeth. “I knew it. Such a good girl. My favorite little toy.” It brushes hair out of your face, in the way that it does so often. “Tell me little one, what would you do to _them_ for me?”

You don’t have to ask who it’s talking about. That sinking feeling crawling over your skin tells you everything you need to know. Them. The Losers Club.

“Would you hurt them?” Something bright glows deep within its eyes. “Would you _kill them all?”_

It takes you a minute to respond, just lying there naked and panting up at it. At last you swallow something down, loud and hard, before finally answering.

_“Anything.”_

And that's when you realize, you’re not the hero in this story.  
  
You're the villain.


	12. No Longer a Lamb

In the beginning, you thought coming to this place had ruined you. You thought it had made you ugly, though the truth was that you had always been. Your petals had been plucked long ago, leaving you bare and wilted for as long as you could remember. Weak, rotten, forgotten little thing.

"Please. Pretty please. If you care, if you dare."

And in the beginning, you thought this thing was breaking you. It wore your fears like the finest of silks, and at first you thought it was only to torture you; merely a way to salt the flesh of its meal before consuming it. You see now that it was so much more than that. You see now, it was showing you that there is nothing to fear but fear _herself._

"All of them. Yes, yes. All of them. You, little thing... You will be their reckoning."

For a month without falter, it came to you every night. It fucked you as though it were a lover; smiling, whispering, guiding. The flowers bloomed from the creatures that winter had eaten and it showed you things you’d never seen even in your nightmares. Ever so sweetly it put its own thoughts inside of you; beautifully violent gore-filled visions spored deep into your mind like so many horror stories. It blessed your ears with the sound of their screams and showed you what their insides looked like so many times they began to feel like memories and some nights you truly had to ask yourself: _have I already killed them?_

The answer was no. You hadn't. You haven't.

But you _will._

That clown, it made you something frightening. Its touch, its words, its thoughts; they hardened your heart into steel. It took those weak, black holes inside of you and filled them with rage. It slaked your mouth with the taste of not only their blood, but the blood of your enemies; and you drank it all down like the sweetest of wine.

It made you something _beautiful._

"No one will ever hurt you again, little thing. If anyone should ever lay a hand on you, I will eat that hand."

No longer are you a frightened lamb, wobbling on feeble knees and falling down to kneel before the will of others. No more are you afraid of what lurks behind you in the darkness. Not now, and not ever again.

The things it did to you made you drop to your knees and belt out gilded hymns. Its tongue delved deep inside your walls, writing out ancient words against your womb. You worshipped it, oh how you still do worship it. It put those brilliant orange lights inside of you like candles glowing in the night. It became a part of you, an extension of your mind like a third eye and you realized with horror, you were beginning to fall in _love._

Just as it taught you, you will hack the heads from their bodies and litter their bones throughout the land. One by one their lives will be snuffed out like gnats under your fingertips and in return the clown will give you just what it promised that day you meant to slice your wrists. Anything that it wants, you will do it. Anything that it needs, you will give it. You’d pry open your ribs, reach inside of your chest and tear out your heart for it; just so much as it asked you nicely.

Because it may not love you yet, but it will. You will make it. Too long have you thirsted for greatness, lying just at the edge of the bank but not strong enough to reach. Too long have you been made to feel like you would never amount to anything more than aloneness. Your whole life you watched the ones you love most die out in front of you; whether spirit or in body; but not anymore. For this thing, it can never die. Never.

"I can give you anything you want... I can even make you happy."

As long as you do as it asks, it can never break that promise. And as long as your heart is still beating, you will always, always do as it begs. You will grant everything it asks like a dutiful wife and you will make this one damned thing just _fucking love you._

 _Anything_ — you think to yourself as you weigh the axe in your hands, _anything it wants from me, and then it will make me happy. It will stay. We'll be together, always._

"Kill them all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! I love feedback


	13. The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh baby no what is you doin

The look that flashes in Mike Hanlon's eyes as you bring down the cheek of your axe is unlike anything you've ever seen in your life. It's brilliant, bright, lighting up two bottomless pools of darkness. You swear that for a second, you can even see into his soul.

He shouldn't have come out here alone with you. You can't help but choke back foul-tasting laughter that for someone who surrounds himself with knowledge, he sure is a stupid fucking man. _Why did he come out here alone with you?_

It had been so easy, drawing him out here into the woods at dawn. Trekking off the path, telling stories of a clown that had been coming to visit. _How afraid you were,_ you had told him. _How terribly terribly afraid._ He'd comforted you, put a big strong hand on your shoulder like big strong men always do. The air was so crisp, so perfectly early in the morning. The birds hadn't even began to sing, but oh how frantically they scattered into the air when you buried your weapon into Mike's dark flesh.

The first blow brought him to his knees. It took everything inside of you to pull the axe out, buried so deep into his bicep that the rest of the limb had dropped clean off. You'd never seen anything like that before, so violent and raw and ferocious. It made you feel something you hadn't felt in a very long time. It made you feel _strong._

The next swing sends him flying face-first into the ground, cracking right down between his neck and shoulder. You can see his bones, dark and wet with his blood, splintered out beneath your blade. The sound keeps echoing in your head; _thunk, thunk,_ mimicking the chopping of wood for the fire.

The next swing almost misses, carves nothing more than a deep laceration across his back. His nice white shirt splits beneath the perfectly sharp edge of your axe as crimson liquid spatters onto your face and neck. You take a second to breathe, to unbutton the top of your blouse and run your blood-stained fingers over the swell of your breasts. After all, it _is_ watching. You might as well give it a show.

You readjust your grip on the wooden throat, raising the bit over your head and readying your feet to strike again. Just as you're about to let it swing, your prey rolls over, stares into with those big sad eyes.

"Please," Mike chokes out as he reaches the only hand he has left out toward you, "Please."

Suddenly everything around you changes. Those cold, dark places inside of you open up; letting in cracks of light. You can hear him now, screaming, crying, begging you for mercy and asking you why.

Oh God, oh what the fuck are you doing? You're not a good person. You've never been a good person.

But _this?_

You back away in horror, at the blood-gushing man in front of you— at yourself— and you keep still even as Mike rises weakly to the ground. Even as he begins to flee, hobbling away like something out of a horror house, you do nothing but stand there in terror. The axe begins to clatter in your hand, crunches hard against the leaves as you drop it to the ground.

Mike doesn't make it very far. In an instant the clown steps out from behind a tree, as though it had been waiting there the entire time. Waiting for you to fail.

At once Mike Hanlon stops in his tracks, swaying on his feet. You can't even begin to imagine the furious pain, the sheer shock of adrenaline coursing through his veins right now as he stares into your monster's eyes.

"You," Mike pants out, almost inaudibly. "I know you... I remember you."

Some sound rises from the ground, almost like fire crackling, like _screaming_ as Pennywise flashes that awful shark-tooth grin. There's no cheesy one-liners, no deviation of its shape as the clown rushes towards him. Almost-vibrating with speed it lets out a laugh, leaps and rips out Mike's throat like an animal. Muscle, veins, obsidian skin, and vocal chords are torn away with one swift movement and just like that; Mike Hanlon is washed away for eternity.

You let out a gasp as your beloved's jaw comes unhinged, feasting on tissue and bone before his body even hits the grounds as though they are the most delicious sweet on this earth. Its eyes go white as the blood begins to coagulate, darkening his chin and entire front of his filthy suit. You can't tear your eyes off of it and when suddenly Pennywise looks up from its meal and bears its teeth at you your instincts cry out for you to run. You flatten your back against an ancient-looking tree and hold your breath tightly in your chest.

 _"Come here."_ Its voice is low and distorted, as deep and furious as the devil's. It pimples your skin and makes each tiny hair on your body stand on end, but even still you do as it asks.

With arms held tightly around yourself you drag your feet slowly towards it. The smell of piss, death, shit, and fear immediately floods your nostrils; replacing the pungent smell of the forest.

"Closer."

There's something so terrifyingly beautiful about the way it's crouched there, covered in flesh and gore like a wolf devouring its prey. Its eyes are almost completely white like two opal stones, and God, you're so fucking in love. This thing could kill you, right now, and even still you'd do anything for it.

"I'm sorry." You murmur, stare locked down at your filthy shoes. "I— I just c-couldn't... I got scared—"

"No, child." Pennywise's face softens, that youthful smile curling up at the edges. "You did _beautifully."_

A rush of warmth drapes over your body, almost like pride. Its praise is one of the most lovely things in this world, and you give yourself any chance you can to bask in it.

"Here," Pennywise says sweetly as it stands up and moves over to put its hands on your shoulders. "Have a little taste."

Before it's finished speaking its long alien-tongue is gliding behind your teeth, smearing iron onto your palette. It surges through you, what was once living, and what has always been alive. It's the closest thing to a kiss you've ever gotten from it, so you close your eyes and you make yourself feel everything.

When it retracts its tongue and you open your eyes, there's something new in its expression. Exhilaration, elation, desire, you're not quite sure but it's clear something has taken over. Frenzied, wild; tugging off your clothes and pushing you back onto the ground. For the first time since it started fucking you, it's clear that this is what it wants— no, _needs_ in this moment. It's doing it for itself, and not just mirroring what it thinks you want it to do.

It wrenches your legs open, fucks you dry right next to Mike Hanlon's half-eaten corpse. With enthusiasm it snaps its hips into your cunt, makes you clutch wildly at the blood-spattered branches and leaves around you.

"Gonna make you cum," It pants out as it screws into you. "Gonna make you _float."_

When at last your pleasure peaks you let out a strangled cry, feeling yourself spasm around it. You're surprised when it doesn't suddenly stop and pull away in indifference as it has each time before. Instead, it keeps its impossible pace and you watch as its eyes glow like two brilliant embers. Soon its pace begins to stutter, and then at once it pulls out of you, something like bewilderment on its painted face. You sit up on the backs of your forearms and stare with wide eyes as it shudders violently, spills something black from the head of its cock.

"Beautiful," you whisper to yourself as you watch it dance through the air like ink in water, floating up past your face. When you look back at it its eyes are wide too, and you can see it's never done that before— at least not in this form. A dull throb of pleasure rushes through you at the thought of how it must have felt.

After a moment your fascination ebbs and you collapse back onto the muddy earth, panting and swollen and sore. Pennywise surprises you once again when it lies beside you, nuzzling up against you like a sated cat. You half expect it to suddenly jerk— to bite you and laugh with glee at your reaction but it doesn't. It just rests. It's an odd feeling, being pressed so tightly against someone who doesn't breathe, doesn't give off any warmth, doesn't have a heartbeat or a pulse or a—

"The body," You crook your neck to look over at the fly-ridden carcass beside you. "Oh, God the rest of the body. What are we going to do with it?"

With that Pennywise perks up, as bright-eyed and as excited as a small child. "Come, come!" It croons, already up and bounding away with Mike's remains in its arms and teeth. "I will show you."

Like Alice and the white rabbit you follow it through the forest, winding through the leaf-veiled trails. Every so often it disappears, reappears out from behind a tree and startles you, giggling at your reactions. Even through your fucked-up excuse for a relationship with it, there's still something sinister about a clown luring you so deep into the woods.

When the canopy above grows so thick that no sunlight can peak through, you begin to hear the faint babbling of rushing water. It brings you out from the foliage and into the tall grass at the edge of Derry's quarry. You look to it to be sure it's taken you to the right place. It nods, begins crossing into the stream, across smooth rocks and into— no. You don't want to go in there. Pennywise disappears completely into a big concrete opening, spilling sewer water onto the earth.

You remember this place, recall playing here as a kid. You'd dare your friends to go inside but no one had ever been brave enough to risk the darkness and the unknown. You look over to the giant clown, covered in blood, beckoning you to keep following. _Thank God none of you ever went in._

It takes you a minute to compose yourself, to gain the courage to follow it through the dark, wet tunnel. It's like a maze in here, winding, dead-ending, confusing and absent of any light whatsoever. You have to rely solely on the splashing of the clown's massive feet to guide you.

Then at once, light. It brings you to an opening, large and grey and filled with heap after heap of trash and debris. Like a dog, Pennywise bounds to the center of it all, sits proudly underneath what looks like a floating tornado of limbs and flesh and adds Mike Hanlon's remains to it.

"This is... uh... this is where you live?"

Pennywise nods excitedly, the his outfit making little jingling sounds at the movement. "Where I rest."

Something swells in your chest. It's showing you its home.

You look around the clown's strange lair, eyes landing back on the floating swirl of decay above its head. You know that it's killed before, but even still the sight sends a shudder up the curve of your spine. It doesn't matter though. No one in this town has ever showed you any compassion, any kindness or desire to be your friend or lover or confidant in the slightest. Not Bill, who treats you like a wounded animal. Not Beverly, who looks at you like a wilted rose. Not Eddie, who only wants to crawl between your legs long enough to forget about his awful fucking wife, and not a single one of the others. No one here has ever cared for you, truly cared for you, until Pennywise came along.

You meet the clown's eyes, kneeling at the base of the heap like a peasant before a king.

"Who's next?"


	14. The Gift

"Are you a God?"

"There are no Gods."

"Then what are you?"

"You speak a lot." Pennywise frowns a little bit. "I do not like that."

You keep asking your questions anyway, growing bored of watching the raindrops spatter against your bedroom window. It's the worst time of year in Derry, when the ice has all melted and the clouds are always fat with rain. Everything around you is always too grey, too wet, too far from winter and yet too far from summer to do anything more than just wait.

"Are you from the afterlife?"

It pretends it can't hear you.

"Are you from outer space?"

It cocks its carved brow just slightly, snapping its eyes over to you like you've struck a nerve.

"I knew it. You're an alien."

"You are a very stupid human."

"Can I see your true form? Your original form?" Your voice lowers to a whisper as you continue, though you're not sure why. "Can I see the... alien form?"

At once Pennywise sits upright on the bed, bursting with a sudden surge of dangerous energy. There's something dark in its expression, an amused glimmer that always comes with one of its tricks.

Its voice spills out slow and honeyed, "Do you like... _spiders_ , Kiddo?"

You know better than to say anything more. Satisfied, it lies back down to rest.

"You do not want to see my true form."

You resign to turn your attention back to the window, watching the droplets race down the glass. You're tired of all this fucking waiting, though you know that you have to. They've all just learned that Mike is missing. Their ears are pricked, too on edge and ready to spring away for you to strike again so soon.

 _"The Eggboy. Kill The Eggboy!"_ Pennywise had told you, though at the time you had no idea who it meant.

You'd quickly learned that it was Ben Hanscom, the biggest and strongest of them all. If you were going to take him down alone, you were going to have to get a lot closer.

_"Yes, that's right! Just like Little Eddie! Closer and closer and closer!"_

Ben, however, turned out to be a lot easier than Eddie. There was no wringing of hands, twisting of wedding bands, or darting of eyes to avoid you. He looked right at you, smiling with those beautiful white teeth as though he had known you for all your years. Despite how pristine his life had become, you could still see the scars of his past like gashes on his sun-beaten face. He bore the long-healed wounds of someone who'd been hurt before, someone who understood how it felt to be alone.

"Things will get better."

His words had caught you off guard, taking your breath away as you sat perched on the steps in front of the restaurant. You hadn't even noticed him standing there, watching you stare off numbly into the distance.

"It may not seem like it now," Ben continued anyway, voice low and soft and full of things you couldn't quite trust. "But I promise you. They always do."

He thinks he can see something in you. It draws him in and brings out parts of himself he's tried hard to keep hidden. It's not like Eddie; not vile and selfish and hungry. It's like a father, a mentor, a friend. It's like someone who wants to protect those good parts of you, wants to keep them safe from a world that wants nothing more than to consume them.

Though what Ben thinks he sees inside of you, is nothing more than _pretty orange lights._

"I have to be careful with him. I have to take my time."

It'd huffed at you, turned its head away like an angry child. It didn't want you to wait. It wanted you to get them while they were all still hurting, get them while they were all still weak.

For some reason this all made getting closer to Eddie an easier task than it had ever been before. You began to feel his eyes on you, burning furious holes in your skin as you and Ben smiled at each other. He grew jealous, insecure, fighting for your attention like a toddler pulling at the hem of your skirt.

 _"I don't like the way he looks at you."_ Eddie had said it to you about Ben. Ben had said it about Eddie. Pennywise had said it about them both.

You started letting Eddie walk you home again, let him glide his tongue over your lips and paw haplessly at your breasts before parting ways. You started letting Ben know things about your past that you'd never shared with anyone else before. They both came to love you, each in different ways, and Pennywise ate it all up like one of the bodies in its lair.

It knew that each day you became closer to Ben was a day closer to killing him. Every night you'd come home to shiny red boxes, filled with jewelry and money and anything beautiful that would fit inside of them. So many presents, so many things.

_"Gifts, for my beautiful little toy."_

One day you came home, tossed the little wrapped box from your bed without a care. You didn't bother to be careful, didn't bother to look inside; simply moved right over to Pennywise and began slipping off your clothes.

"I gave you a gift." It motioned to the ribbon-ordained present lying discarded in the corner of the room. _"Open it."_

"I don't need anymore gifts. I don't want want any. I want you. I want _Pennywise."_

Its face became a snarl, staring at you with distrust as you tugged desperately at the folds of its suit. "Does this come off? I want this off."

At once it shoved your hand away, rushed back to the side of the room and sat on its haunches like an animal. "I can smell you. You want me to rut you."

"No— well, yes I—"

"Get on the bed then, child."

You sighed. Obeying its command, you climbed atop the beautiful wooden frame you'd bought with some of the gifts Pennywise had given you. At first you thought of saving it all, using it as a way to get out of here.

But then you realized, one night with Pennywise's tongue stuffed deep inside your cunt, that you never wanted to leave.

"I want to try something."

The clown's eyes flashed yellow with a bolt of curiosity. It cocked its head to the side, climbed over you like a panther.

"No, you have to be still." You put a hand out against its chest, urged it to roll onto its back. "You have to trust me."

"Trust..." Pennywise hissed, like it was practicing the word.

"Yes. _Trust_."

It folded its enormous hands on its chest, rested them there. It looked up at you with dark eyes, waiting for you to make a single wrong move. You leaned to kneel between its legs, ran your fingers over the fabric covering its groin. Immediately it sprung to catch your wrist tight, gripping it like a vice. Pain shot through your arm, and purple marks would stain you for days.

"Please." You begged, tears stinging your eyes. "Just let me. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Nothing could ever hurt _me._ "

"I know."

At last it relaxed into you, let you pull its member free from its clothes. Its drool dripped from its mouth just as furiously as clear liquid wept from its head. You took it in your hand, felt the power beneath its skin surge through your body like a current.

It's always changing the shape of it, keeping you guessing each time. This time it was surprisingly human, pink and smooth with a base peppered by fiery red hair.

It made a guttural sound in the back of its throat as you took it deep into your mouth. It tasted surprisingly sweet on your tongue, bringing back thoughts and memories of desserts you ate as a child. It buried those long fingers in your hair as you bobbed your head; you could feel them ripping out one by one. You welcomed it; the pain, the burning in your lungs as you struggled to give it pleasure. You could feel yourself growing wet, thinking only of how good you were making it feel.

"Child," it had hissed, like a warning. Quickly, you let it pop free from your mouth, moved to straddled its impossibly broad hips.

_"Fuck."_

You can feel your blood rushing now, remembering how its cock slid into you with ease. Still warm from your mouth it throbbed against those wonderful places inside of you, thrusted up into them with such vigor. Its gloved fingers pressed so hard into your skin you feared they might break through, but oh how fucking _good_ it felt to finally be in control.

"Oh God, yes, I'm coming," you cried, and then it was too. Pulsing, thrusting, filling you up with its thick black seed and spilling back onto its suit as you rode through it. It had been so beautiful, so—

"Tomorrow."

Its words break you from your memory, flushed and beading with sweat. You look over to it, sitting upright on the bed next to you. It moves in a little closer, puts the little gift you'd thrown away that night into the palm of your hands.

It's far too small to be money, too small to be clothing or jewelry or anything else it had ever given you before. You quickly tear through the ribbons, opening the box to see— _what?_

You flick your eyes over to Pennywise, looking to make sure it hadn't been a mistake. It nods, takes the gift from its package and closes your hands around it.

"Tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!! I'm having so much fun writing this and I really hope you are enjoying it as well :)


	15. So Beautiful, So Bright

"Where am I?" He asks, groggy and slow, just like in the movies. He struggles to lift his head up, tries desperately to blink away the pounding ache behind his eyes.

You were afraid you'd killed him already, swinging the bat too hard and cracking his skull open like an eggshell. You were afraid you'd sent bone-white shards deep into his brain, severing his consciousness and ending everything you'd worked so hard at before it had even started. You didn't though. Not yet.

Getting him all the way out here to the edge of Derry was the hardest fucking thing you had ever done in your life. You couldn't simply flutter your eyelashes and ask him to follow you out into the woods the way you had done with Mike. Because _this?_ This had taken _patience_. This had taken _strength_. Knocking him unconscious and dragging his limp body in and out of his car alone in the dead of night. Your muscles still scream at you in protest, recalling how it felt to lift a man nearly twice your own size. You can still feel the taste of gasoline on your tongue. You can still feel the burning.

 _This is going to be so much better than Mike_ , you think to yourself as you circle the now writhing man on the concrete. So much slower. So much more _beautiful_.

"What is this? What are— What are you doing?" His words become frantic, frightened, spilling out of his mouth as he fights to break free from the duct tape bound tightly around his limbs.

You can feel your beloved inside of you now— inside of your mind— opening it up with its gloved fingers and showing you over and over again just what to do. It's back in its lair; watching, waiting, whispering. It's everywhere around you, filling up the empty places and settling like a perfumed mist.

That beautiful voice rings in your ears, hums to your pounding heart full of darkness. _"Do it, child. Do it now. Show me how much you love me."_

You give it your answer, pulling the little metal canisters out of Ben's trunk with a smile. That look you catch in his eyes as you set them on the ground beside you is so raw, so pure in its desperation. Some part of you, buried so deep you'd forgotten it was even there, almost wishes you'd reach into the back of your pocket and slit his throat to spare him the agony of what's to come.

Almost.

At once you drop down to your knees, crawl towards him on the weathered concrete like an animal. Bits of gravel and aged glass pierce the leather of your gloves, press up sharply into your jean-covered thighs as you sit down to face him.

"Your eyes..." Ben chokes as you peel back the hood of your jacket. "They're black..."

You smile a bit, cock your head to the side and drag your gaze over his body. No matter how loudly he screams, no one will ever hear him. Nothing but pitch-black darkness surrounds the lot, save for the brilliant glow of the headlights behind you. Nothing but empty fields and trees.

No one will be able to help him. Not out here.

His eyes jump back to the canisters on the ground behind you, face pale-white and stricken with fear. "You're a good person," he begins, and it almost sounds like he's speaking more to himself than to you. "I know you are. You won't do this. You won't kill me."

"Oh, yes I will."

You reach out to run a hand over his soft, feathered hair and he jerks away in abhorrence. Sweat beads furiously from his pores, the bright beams of his headlights illuminating his handsome features so perfectly. He's nowhere near as beautiful as Pennywise, but it's nice to admire his face while it's still here.

You can feel it in your chest as you bend over to press your lips against his ear, its voice coming out alongside your own. "And when I'm done with you? I'll kill all of your pathetic little friends... _one... by... one."_

Ben's brows raise up as his eyes go wide with panicked understanding. "I knew it. This isn't you! It's that— that _thing!_ It's using you! It's working through you!"

You lean back, give him a shrug.

"Oh, God.. I knew it was back... we all... we all _knew.._." He tries his best to wriggle into a seating position, searching for any hint of light in your coal-black eyes. You study each other for a moment, frozen in time, before at last you stand and walk back towards the metal canisters.

Desperation grips him again, running up his spine and sending him into a frenzy. He tries furiously to shimmy, scramble, roll away, but he knows he won't get anywhere. He stops, breathless. "It's taking advantage of you! Can't you see? It's done this before! Henry Bowers! His name was _Henry Bowers_ and he—"

The heel of your shoe slams right against his temple, though at first you were aiming for his jaw. His head crashes right back down onto the concrete, making a sickening thud as soon as it connects.

"Shut up!" You scream, as he squeezes his eyes shut and groans. "For the love of God just _shut up!"_

Ben rolls onto his side, and this time when he speaks to you there's blood— so much blood—spraying out of his mouth and running down his cheek like thick red foam.

"It's using you..." Ben wheezes, voice quiet and strangled. "You're just doing what it... you're just doing what it was too weak to do."

Fury rushes through your veins like a fever, filling you up with nothing but hate. You kick out hard against his stomach, wanting nothing more than to make him eat his vile words filled with lies. _Stupid fucking man. He wouldn't know strength even if it set him on fire itself._

Quickly you open the top of one of the cans; turning it upright and pouring it directly onto Ben's pathetic, quivering body. You don't stop until he's drenched. Crying and bleeding and soaked. You watch him for a minute, watch him struggle and squirm and panic. He doesn't look so big anymore, not from up here. He looks like nothing more than a writhing little worm.

 _Oh, it's going to love this_ , you think to yourself as you reach into your jacket pocket. _It's going to be so fucking proud._

This time when he speaks again his voice is nothing but a whisper. "Henry's dead now... I wonder what'll happen after it's through with _you."_

You try to stop yourself. You try to hold it back just for a moment longer but you can't. You rear your leg back, send one last unforgiving kick directly into the center of Ben's face.

Regret washes over you like a sudden flash of rain in the desert. _What did you do? What the fuck did you just do?_ You look down, confirming just what you were afraid you had done— that you had knocked him unconscious.

"Fucking bastard!" You scream, yanking furiously at the ends of your hair and whirling around. The sky has bloomed violet with the looming threat of morning; it's too late now to wait for him to wake up again

Ruined! It's all fucking ruined. You pace around Ben's body wildly, heart-racing and filled with self-hatred until— of course! It could still work!

You set to work quickly, picking up his body and stuffing it into the back of his now-empty trunk. Different. But it'll work.

You take one last long look at Ben's bruised and bloodied face before slamming the hood closed. You have to remember this, each of these mistakes you've made on your own. These little lessons— they'll all be useful again soon.

_"Hurry, sweet child! Do it! Do it for us!"_

The rich, melodic chanting in your head grows louder as you empty the rest of the fluid onto the entire body of the car. There are hoofbeats in your chest, pounding wildly in your ears as you let the last canister fall to the ground. With shaking hands, you reach into your pocket, pull out Pennywise's last gift to you.

The little red matchbook clatters in your fingertips, shaking around the tiny sticks inside of it. It takes everything in you to steady yourself enough to slide it open and pull one out.

_"That's it, little one! Just like I showed you!"_

As though on cue, the lights of the vehicle burn out to a halt. Darkness surrounds you now, wrapping you up tight like a blanket. At last you take a deep breath, drag the devil-red bead down hard over the strip of the box. The match sparks bright, tiny little flame blackening the color that had just been there. You take another step back, readying yourself to end it.

" _Burn him! Burn him! Burn him all away!"_

You nod. Then you let it drop.

At once the fire from the match races out against the fuel-soaked vehicle. Flames lick hungrily at the liquid, burning and multiplying like thousands of amber flowers. Heat roars as it blossoms, urging you to move further and further away. Even after having done your best to siphon the gas-tank empty, you're still not quite sure what could happen.

You stand now at the edge of the lot where rain-wet, lifeless grass begins and the forgotten poured-concrete comes to an end.

This isn't what you had planned. You'd wanted to burn them both separately, wanted to hear Ben's furious screams as his throat boiled down to ashes. Only then, after he was dead had you planned on setting his car on fire but this— this is somehow all okay as well.

So beautiful, so bright. A roaring inferno, all at the hands of you and you alone. It's the most glorious thing you've ever seen in your life.

And you may not be able to see Ben burn, but all at once you know that you can smell it. The hot stench of terror and burning flesh hits you like a kick to the stomach, nearly bringing you to your knees with the force of it. Every cell and atom of his being incinerated with the flick of your thumb, never to move or think or breathe ever again. You choke back a laugh, turn and walk away as the whole world burns behind you.

You walk through the scattered trees until you can no longer hear the ravenous growling of the flames in the distance. You walk until the smell no longer churns your stomach like butter; until the only thing that surrounds you again is choking black darkness.

At last its voice fills your ears once more. _"Come to me, child. I wait for you."_

Your lungs burn as you pump your legs, running as fast as your feet can carry you. You fly through the barren fields, over the still-warm train tracks, never stopping once until you make it to the gaping doorway of its home. The stench is acrid, though it is welcome. It reminds you of the thing you love most in this world.

You've never been here at night. Making your way through the shit-coated catacombs in the dead center of the witching hour should send terror to your core. It doesn't though. There's only one thing that scares you anymore.

Excitement pierces your chest, blowing up your lungs like two red balloons when at last you reach the opening of its lair. Just when you can see the first few rays of moonlight the blaring sound of calliope music erupts in your ears. You take a few more cautious steps, seeing now the glowing white bulbs that adorn the edge of its home.

It's a stage, a giant weathered stage that you'd somehow never taken notice to here before. A panel drops down, and at last your love appears to you. "There she is!" Its ever-long arms stretch out like a crucifixion, like a showman on his stage.

The backdrop behind it glows as bright and as furiously as hell-fire as it leaps down from the edge, too high and too slow to look even remotely human. So powerful, so otherworldly, so strong. You feel your breath hitch in your throat at the sight.

"Child," It croons, grabbing you up and swinging you around by the pits of your arms. "Oh my sweet, sweet child!"

By the time it sets you back down you're dizzy, head swirling with love and affection. It grasps you by the arm, pulls you up with it onto the creaking wooden stage.

When you lean in close to it there are tears in your eyes. "Did I do what you wanted? Is this what you wanted?"

"Of course, little one."

"You and I... we'll be together forever, right?"

"Until old age takes you back to the weeds."

You take off your gloves; running your finger over the cool smooth edges of its face. It catches your wrists, pulls you into a clumsy waltz across the floorboard. It's celebrating, eyes as wide and as blue as Bill Denbrough's. It's happier now than you've ever seen it before.

"I love you," you tell it, words barely audible over the blaring sound of the music. And even though it doesn't say it back, you know that it does. It has to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading y'all :') your comments have me shoUTING I'm so happy you guys are reading and responding it makes my heart grow 3 sizes anyways murder is bad please don't do it have a blessed night :)


	16. Gonna Be Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you plot who to kill next your relationship with Pennywise continues, reaching new heights. Nothing has ever been better, and you're certain it loves you as well.

The next person on your list is Richard— Rich— Richie— _whatever the fuck_ those aging, imbecilic assholes call him. His name is bright red, underlined; waiting so deliciously and unexpectedly for his turn. The very thought sends a flutter of excitement through your frame. It buzzes, roaring and loud, like so many brightly colored beetles inside of you.

He's the one that you see the least often, only stopping by every once in a while to offer fleeting smiles to his childhood friends. You know that he'll be the most difficult by far to get alone but then again _,_ you've never been one to shy away from a challenge.

You spend your monotonous days at work thinking up ways to torture and kill him, biding your time until you've figured out just the perfect way to do it. You could flay him, drown him, carve out pieces of his brain and feed them to his friends without them ever even knowing. You could rub salt in his wounds, leave him in the quarry to bleed out all alone. You could even make it look like an accident, slit his wrists in his bathtub just like poor little Stanley.

The possibilities are endless, channeling your creative side as you wait tables and smile widely at the old men who sit at the edge of the bar. This time will be nothing like the others, the two that came before him. This time will be better. This time, you'll finally be prepared.

Because this time Pennywise isn't rushing you. It isn't snarling, chanting, pushing you too suddenly towards them and causing you to lose your footing just before you're ready to strike. A delicious, feline-languor has washed over it— unlike anything you've seen from it before. It almost seems as though it's still celebrating, still basking in the glow of your presence and what you have already helped it to achieve. No more whispers, no more threats, no more pain.

And to be honest? You've never been any fucking happier.

Oh, how you wish you could save these moments— that you could lock them each away in pretty glass jars and keep them with you forever. You wish that you could hold them in your hands, pull them out and wear them over your neck when your body begins to rot from the inside out.

Above all else, you wish that you could stay forever like this: strong and furious and more in love than you had ever imagined possible.

Pennywise; Eater of Worlds, Taker of Souls, Devourer of Fears. So many rightly-earned names, so many exquisitely frightful forms. It could rip out your spine from your chest, pluck each limb from your body like a helpless little ant. Its strength truly knows no bounds, as radiant and as volatile as the sun itself. And even after all of this— all of its magnificence and its extraordinarily mind-boiling powers— it has still somehow managed to fall in love with _you_.

As of now, there are no doubts within you as to whether or not it loves you. It does. It unquestionably, irrevocably, indisputably does.

When you look into its eyes, they're the color of your mother's— so soft and bright and full of timeless wisdom. If you stare into them long enough, you can see those three little bursts of light, dancing and swirling within its pupils like fireflies in the summer. It looks at you, as though you are something that deserves to be looked at.

It knows your memories, your dreams, can open up your mind and read them all like a vibrant little picture-book. It knows every awful thing you've ever done and still, it loves you anyway.

You realize now that it's letting you inside. Bit by bit you feel yourself cracking away at its porcelain shell, at last allowing its true self to shine gloriously through. It's more than just the glitches— more than just the lapses in its frightening human mimicry. It's purposeful, deliberate.

All that blood you've spilled for it, it must have counted for something.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" You ask one morning in its lair, watching as it lazily pick its piranha-like teeth.

"No." It snaps, crawling over on its hands and knees to sit in front of you. It draws its eyes over your body, drool dripping from the edges of its lips. " _Beautiful_."

You love the way the word rolls off of its tongue, as though each syllable were made from the finest of gold. Every word of praise grows flowers in your mind and fills you with light. Every scorn cuts you deep, slicing you open like a razor blade to the heart.

It still has its moments. There are still those times when the evil inside of it rears its ugly head and it takes a swipe at you with its grotesque werewolf-claws. But then, as always, the red glow in its eyes will flicker out just as quickly as it arrived. Its talons will return to the sheath of its gloves, and it will then run its sticky-sweet tongue along the flesh of your cheek like an obedient little pet.

But at the end of the day, no matter how much love it carries for you in its otherworldly heart, it will continue to remain a monster. It will never be human, not entirely— of that you are certain. It will always be a beast, fueled on by hunger and instinct and darkness. But then again, a monster doesn't really seem so monstrous when you're clenching wildly around its cock.

Because of course, as always, there's still the fucking.

Something is different about it though; lately something has changed. It's slower, sweeter, using its wicked powers not to restrain you; but to enhance your pleasure to heights you'd never even imagined. You are never at a loss for your desires, wanting and taking everything that it gives you as graciously as any doting wife should.

Tentacles, tongues, more alien-phalluses than you'd ever have known what to do with; transforming into lewd beasts and fucking you so sweetly into the mattress. You want to do everything on this earth with it, and oh how happy it is to oblige you.

"Who could ever do these things to you? The things that I do?" It asks you this one night with your naked, writhing body floating high above the bed. "Certainly no mere human."

Your face still grows hot, recalling the way its impossibly long finger pressed against the entrance of your ass, slid inside and fucked you there until you couldn't even breathe. You'll never forget how it feels when it cums inside of you, pulsing so deep within you that it matches your own heartbeat. You'll never be able to pass a carnival again without getting soaked.

"I can't give you eternal life." It murmurs, one night after you've sucked its cock dry of its foul-tasting seed. "But I can make you live long. Longer than any human before you."

You want to kiss it. You want to run your tongue along the corners of its broken rabbit-teeth, press your lips against its own. You want to feel it against you, all of it, its pale skin covering every inch of your own like a painted blanket. Instead, you take only what you can get. All of it that it can give, and oh how it loves to give.

Hours upon hours it spends between your knees, tickling your thighs with its coarse head of flame. That serpentine tongue fills up every hole you have, hungrily lapping your juices and pinning your wrists down by your sides. It loves to scare you into thinking it'll tear them from their sockets again. And you? You love to be scared.

"Let go, child. Be afraid. You taste so much better when you're afraid."

You oblige, each time, letting it browse through your memories and torture you with fears you didn't know you even had. It becomes everyone you've ever loved, fucks you wearing their faces and reminding you of everything you ever did wrong— every mistake you've ever made.

After it's over it curls up against you, runs its gloves over your body and tells you what a good girl you are. Cool and clammy against your body, purring loudly until at last you've fallen asleep.

It may be a monster, but it is undoubtedly _your_ monster. It belongs just as much to you as you do to it, entwined until the soil devours your flesh and takes your bones back into the Earth.

And no matter what it may be, no matter what it may truly have planned, one other thing is certain. The pain that you felt in the beginning, that gaping hole inside of you, and the loneliness that scorched like ice-cold fire; have at last all come to an end.

"She does not go."

"I have to go. I have to work."

"She does not go." It rests Indian-style, like a child, somehow still managing to scoot closer.

You let out a sigh, lips curling up in amusement. "I can't just not go in. If they find out Ben is missing too, and then I'm not there, it'll be s—"

"If she destroyed them all, she would never have to leave again."

"I mean, yeah? I guess." Your face softens, moving over to run your hands through its hair to tell it goodbye. "You'd like it if I could stay here with you?"

"Yes, with Pennywise," it hisses, leaning into your touch, "Together. Forever."

You can tell before you even walk inside that they've all finally learned that Ben is missing. You can smell it in the air as you move towards Bill's office; so dark and wet and tinged with sorrow.

They're all here this time, even Richie. Their faces are all sullen and teary, leaning on each other just as they were the day they'd found out that Mike Hanlon was gone.

When Beverly sees you she shatters, weeping. She wraps you up into a tight embrace, presses her chin into the back of your shoulder. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry. I know how close you'd gotten. It's just... it's just so _horrible._ "

"It was the clown." Eddie whispers from the other side of the room. His dark eyes are blown-out, boring holes into the ground as though he can't believe the words pouring out of his mouth. "It was that fucking clown."

Richie nods numbly, chewing at his bottom lip. He hasn't spoken, hasn't moved an inch since you walked through the doors. His face is pale white, almost lighter than Pennywise's.

Bill shakes his head, looks up at him from his worktable. His eyes are two pools of ice-water, spilling out at the rings and dripping down the edge of his time-worn cheeks. "Look we don't— we don't _know_ that. Okay? We d-don't know anything yet."

All at once you can feel the air in the room shift, turning from despair to outrage. Eddie's thin frame hardens, whipping his body around to slam his palms flat against the surface of Bill's desk. "What do you mean we don't _know?_ First Stanley kills himself? Then Mike disappears? Now Ben's in the fucking _hospital_ , what do you fucking mea—"

"What did you say?"

Everyone stops what they're doing, snaps their eyes over to look at you. You feel something drop into your stomach, heavy and cold like a stone.

"Oh, God. She doesn't know yet."

Bill opens his mouth again, almost shaking. "Ben— they f-found—"

"They put him into a coma." Richie interrupts. "There were burns..."

"No one knows what happened. Not yet."

You drop to your knees. You can see their mouths all moving, talking, but you can't hear a single fucking sound. It feels like there's a fire in your chest, filling up your lungs with thick black smoke. Oh God, you can't breathe. You can't fucking breathe.

It's Eddie who rushes down beside you, takes you under his long arms like a mother bird. "Shhh, shhh. It's okay. It'll all be okay."

His words do nothing to sooth you, dry-heaving and clutching at your throat. Everything is closing in around you. Everything is turning black.

"It'll be okay." Eddie repeats, words soft and hot and muffled by the roaring of blood in your ear. "Ben's gonna be okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I thank you guys for reading literally every chapter but I'm thANKFUL IDK I love writing this! Let me know what ya think :) have a great night!! please practice safe sex and please oh god don't murder people


	17. Labyrinth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You rush home to tell Pennywise the horrible news that Ben is somehow still alive, shocked to discover it is no longer there. Against your own fears, you set off to find it in its lair and ask what should be done.

"Pennywise!" Its name comes out high and loud and frantic, almost hoarse from how many times you've screamed it out. "Pennywise! Oh, fuck, _Pennywise!"_

The key shakes violently in your hand as you work at the rusted lock, nearly dropping it twice before you're finally able to push it in. At last you swing the door open, bolting as quickly through the creaking hallway as you can until you've reached your bedroom.

"Pennywise!" You shriek again desperately, sliding to a halt in front of your bed and whirling around in circles. "Oh, God, it's Ben! He's still ali—"

All at once your muscles go rigid, unease filling your veins up with slushy grey ice-water. The clown is gone. It shouldn't be gone.

"Pennywise?"

It knows. Oh, God, it fucking _knows_ , and now it's not even here— not even whispering to you anymore. Oh fuck, oh Jesus, where is it now? And what will it do to you when it comes back? _If_ it comes back? Fucking hell— _what the fuck do you do now?_

It had taken so much courage, balling up your fists and fleeing home as soon as you'd heard the news. Something rooted deep inside the recesses of your mind pleaded with you not to; for though it could not read your thoughts it could still devour your memories, detect even the slightest changes in your mood. There would be no way to lie to it, to deceive it in any way. The mistakes you made would all be as evident to it as ink-black letters on a page. It would see the rotten fruits of your failure, watch them over and over again until it realized just how futile you truly were. It would kill you, eat you, dispose of you like some filthy little cum-rag. It would toss you aside just as everyone else has, just as it did to Henry Bow—

You clench your jaw, feeling your face grow hot with a nauseating rush of blood. _No. Not like him. Never like him. It loves you. It needs you. It would never hurt you. Not really._

Leaving no more time for yourself to think you rush into your closet, ripping free the warmest clothes you own from their hangers and letting your waitress uniform fall to the floor. With shaking fingers you tie tight the laces of your boots and prepare for the freezing-wet trek into the heart of its lair.

_It won't hurt you. It loves you. It loves you. It loves you._

By the time you make it to the other side of Derry the sun is dipped halfway beneath the earth. You park your car in the driveway of the abandoned Costello house, making sure to grab a flashlight from the glove compartment before you head out. Picking your feet up high, you cross down into the brambles of the forest to your favorite place to enter the catacombs beneath the town.

You take one last deep breath of fresh air before you enter, straightening your spine with every drop of courage you can possibly scrounge up. Then, you lower your head, and step slowly into the cavernous opening of the tunnel.

Fuck, it's so cold. It's been weeks since the first time you came here, but you can't remember it ever being this cold before. You shine the beam of your flashlight down to the end of the path, hating the way the shadows dance so wildly around it.

You try hard to distract yourself, taking a big hard gulp and rattling through your mind for things that aren't so foreboding. Some light memory of evenings in the sun, some song of strength, or some line from a dead poet that proves that fear is nothing more than what we make it. You search for something— anything to ease your mind of the terrors in the tunnels but instead all you can find are questions.

What will it do to you when it sees you? Will it fuck you? Will it kill you? Will it tell you everything is okay, slick your hair back and correct your mistake like the loving teacher that it is?

God, how in hell was it unable to sense that Ben was still alive? It was watching, all the while it was _watching_. Its crooked eyes— they were on _you_. It must have known that final kick didn't knock Ben unconscious. It must have known he was able to get out, able to crawl away and over the town li—

Wait.

Is that it?

Do its powers of all-knowingness extend only as far as the Derry town-lines? Does its sight lay over the city like a sheen of mist, confined to where it all ends?

Or was it Ben? Was he so close to death that Pennywise couldn't even detect him? Was it the others? Was it watching them all so closely, so ready for them to die as well that it forgot to even look to make sure Ben's life had been fully snuffed out? Was it watching you— hungry and distracted by the delicious evil in your eyes?

_Was it you?_

By now you should know this path by heart. To your surprise, you find yourself slamming into the concrete walls of each and every dead end. You trip over water-worn stones that shouldn't be in these tunnels. Your fists rattle against the iron bars that you know for certain were never here before. You don't know how far you are from the lair, how far you've traveled, or how long the fecal-filled labyrinth could possibly even stretch.

There's only one thing that's certain. Pennywise is definitely here.

You feel its arcane power, the air so thick and black and filled with the undeniable tingle of electricity against your prickled flesh. Usually this kind of hide-and-seek game with your otherworldly lover would have you practically dripping and creaming in your panties, but this is nothing like that. There's evil here— darkness and envy and wrath all dancing through the air like hundreds of screeching little bats. Your mind begins to play tricks on you as you stare long enough into the void, into the bleak nothingness at the end of each passage.

Or perhaps they aren't even tricks at all. Perhaps this is its punishment for you, toying with your mind and seasoning your flesh before it tears your muscles to shreds and picks its teeth with your bones.

Whispers begin to fill your ears as you move forwards, cool breaths skating lightly against the back of your neck as things tug against the hem of your shirt. Something deep in your gut screams: _get out! For the love of God just turn around and run!_ The words are so loud; heavy like a blow to the stomach and for a moment you even pause, consider them. You roll them over on your tongue like a metallic-tasting sore, weighing them in your mouth as you hold your breath.

_Yes, you could leave. You could pack up everything you have, all the money and jewelry and drive far away from Derry. You'd be safe, you'd be—_

You feel your shoulders drop.

_You'd be alone._

Despite having checked to make sure the batteries in your flashlight were fresh, it dies out all at once. A yelp rips from your throat as it leaves you alone and blind; stranded lost in the pipes at the middle of an ever-changing maze. Panic grips you, having no idea which way is forwards and which way is back. You put your hands out in front of you, wildly feeling your way forwards against the piss-dripping walls. Slowly, your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness around you and you see it— the piercing yellow eyes poised low at the end of the tunnel. Trembling, white-faced, you take another reluctant step forward. It's coming into focus now; the rotten skull laced with bloodied flesh blinking and slithering just a few yards away from you.

_Oh God what is that? What the absolute fuck is that?_

You take a jump back, chest heaving with fear. Is that real? Is it your mind? Is it Pennywise fucking with your brain? Did it make this? _Is it fucking real?_

A whisper echoes through the pipes, hissing deep and low.

" _Broken_."

Abruptly, you launch forwards into a sharp turn, veering to avoid having to walk down the path with that demonic-looking thing. You can feel yourself sweating, panting, you know that you've been wandering aimlessly through the sewers for hours. No one will ever find your body. No one will ever even know what happened to you.

" _Stupid_."

It isn't Pennywise's voice, not really. It's horrible, unlike anything you've ever heard. Your pace begins to quicken, picking up your feet and hobbling faster through the awful shit-infested water.

_"Filthy."_

Something trips you, like a snake striking and coiling tightly around your ankle. Your body lurches forward, sending you sprawling face-first into the liquid sewage around you. You open your mouth to cry out in surprise, find your tongue tinged with— _oh god, is that blood? Is this all— is this blood?_

_"Child."_

It's fear and fear alone that drives you forwards now, leaping up and fleeing as fast as you can through the coal-black tunnels. Tears stream down your face along with the thickened old blood, sobbing as you kick your feet wildly. You don't care about finding its lair anymore. You just want to get out of here.

At last you see it— the moonlight at the end of one of the drains. You push your legs harder than you ever have before, swinging your arms tightly by your sides and slinging vile liquid from your body as you run. You're so close— so fucking close you can taste the pine trees and the wet spring grass and the old air-freshener hanging around your rear-view mirror. Just a few more footfalls and you're right fucking _there._

When at last you feel the cool rushing of wind around you all you can do is raise your arms in victory as you skid to a halt. You double forwards, resting your hands on your knees and panting out in exhaustion.

"Do you mistake me for a fool?"

You should have known, should have seen this coming. When you turn around again you're no longer outside of the tunnels. You never were. Instead, you stand squarely in the center of its grand old lair, face to face with your flame-haired lover.

"Pennywise!" You shout, with all the strength you can muster. You're practically breathless with relief, chest heaving as you sway clumsily on your feet. "Oh, God, Pennywise... you had me— fuck, you had me _terrified."_

It cocks a brow at you, mouth poised in a snarl. You take a step towards it and it takes an even longer one back, as though disgusted by the very sight of you. You flinch when it drops to its haunches, muscles taught beneath its suit like a predator ready to spring.

"It's Ben," You continue, pushing down the low thrum of unease in your belly. "He's still— they found him—"

"Alive?" Pennywise interrupts you, but it doesn't sound like a question. It sounds like an accusation. It sounds like it's known this all along, has carried the news with it since the beginning of time itself.

Something within you doesn't think that's true— thinks that it only knew after The Losers told you and it was able to pluck the memory from your brain like a little white flower— but you drop to your knees to meet its eyes anyway.

"Fuck, what are we gonna do? How do we fix this?"

"You will fix this."

"What? No, you... You have to help me!"

You reach for one of its hands and it snatches it away. It stands suddenly, towering over you now and sending a stab of panic into your soul.

 _"Brat,"_ it hisses, snarling. "You will fix your mistake. Alone."

"I _can't_. Not this. He's in a hospital— there's security, there's cameras. There could be people in there with him, I don't even kn—"

"Do you love me, little one?"

"What? Yes, of— of _course_ I love you."

"Then you will not fail me again." Something in its voice makes every joint in your body turn to stone. Your brows furrow together, doing your best not to shake as you meet its gaze and then suddenly you feel it— the sliding of a needle-pointed talon across the length of your neck. "In fact," it begins, bringing the claw to a halt just over your pulse-point, "I am quite sure of it."

Your breath hitches painfully behind your collar-bone. You can't move, can't think, can't even blink; until at last it burst out a maniacal, bone-chilling laugh. At once the talon retracts back into its hand like the sheath of a feline's paw.

You let out a little ragged sigh and clutch at your throat, suddenly feeling very light-headed. _Oh, God._ If earlier that voice in your gut was shouting for you to run, it has now reached the decibel of a _scream._

Pennywise's laughter rises, splits off into bubbling chuckles like some high-pitched simian gibber. It comes to a halt, eye wandering and mouth sloshing over with spittle.

"What's wrong, little one?" Its face remains blank and still, void of all emotion. "Did Pennywise give you a _scare?"_

It's only when you take a step back, just by an inch, that it finally shakes its head free from the glitch in its behavior. The clown's eyes snap back towards you, features becoming bright and animated once again.

"Oh, now, don't be afraid! Just kill the little Eggboy for me and all will be swell! So sweet, so swell, so very very well! Yes, that's right. All of them! Kill them all dead for me! Kill them all!"

As though sensing your grave unease, it reaches out with its long arms and pulls you towards it. You let out another sigh, deeper, more genuine, allowing yourself to melt into its embrace. It reeks like death, more fresh and repugnant than it usually does; but alas you welcome it anyway.

"So much fear." Pennywise murmurs, stepping back to smooth down your hair. There's affection in its eyes as it smiles, cocks its warmly head to the side. "There is no need for any of that. No, no. No need."

You let out a squeak as it circles behind you, shoves you onto your hands and knees just where the sewer-water ends and the mountain of filth in its liar just barely begins. It rips down your pants and underwear in one swift movement, exposing your sewage-soaked ass to the cool air as it raises your hips higher.

"Pennywise..."

It answers you by shoving its alien tongue— what you think is its tongue— deep inside of your walls without warning. The force is so sudden, punching the air out of your lungs as it fills you.

 _"Pennywise!"_ You repeat, only now it sounds like a cry of some dying animal. You feel the texture of every one of its millions of tastebuds, moving slowly in and out. "Penn—"

Too soon it rips the vessel out of you, shuffling behind you. You can feel now the blood-hot head of its cock pressing firmly against the drool-slicked entrance of your cunt.

"Don't you _love_ me?" Pleasure sparks in your clit; and you realize it to be one of its gloved fingers dancing slightly over the hood of your sex as it pushes its length slowly inside. "Don't you _trust_ me?"

"Yes! Fuck. Oh, God, oh fuck." All you can do is babble as it rubs you from behind, fucking you slowly in time with its hand. "Trust you, always... unghh... trust you."

"Look at you." It hisses, voice dripping with lust. "So perfect. So beautiful. So destructive."

It speeds up its pace, the slapping of its skin against your thighs and buttocks echoing through the open lair. You turn your head, watch the beautiful carousel of bodies floating up against the ceiling.

"Mine." It growls, fucking into you with fervor. "Mine. All mine. All Pennywise's."

You feel it spreading the round flesh your cheeks, recognize the slick writhing of its tentacle-like tongue as it presses into the tight hole of your ass. It gives you no time to protest, filling you up just as its cock is stuffed deep inside of your pussy.

"Fuck!" You cry, the pressure so sweetly painful that tears begin to sting your eyes. "Oh, _Fuck."_

Pennywise undulates its paces, tongue-fucking your ass as it drives into your cunt at varyingly wonderful rhythms. It goes on like this for what feels like an eternity, playing with you and sliding in and out your holes until at last you cum so hard you see stars behind your eyes.

When it's all over, the panting and spasming and wanting of more, you stand on wobbling legs and pull up your pants to leave. You can feel its black juices as they drip down the inside of your thigh, feel yourself smirk at the thought of whether or not it will leave a stain in these pants.

"Run along now, little thing." It croons, fluttering you a goodbye with its extraterrestrial fingers. In the blink of an eye it is no longer resting behind you, but seated primly at the crest of its trash-filled peak. "That's right! Run along! Gotta kill that stupid Fatboy before he wakes up!"

You do your best to nod your head, still coming down from the waves of your orgasm. You'll have to head back home, will have to come up with a plan to kill Ben on your own. The thought sends a shiver up your spine, but you know that you have to. 

 When you reach the exit of the tunnel to leave, you give it one final passing glance over your shoulder and catch a glimpse of its eyes. They're as beautiful as always, but they're certainly not the color of your mother's anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! I'm so excited to share what's to come :) why does pennywise have to be so adorably evil smh


	18. Beneath the Bandages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and The Losers visit a comatose Ben in the hospital for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet, y'all

There was no fiber in your being that wanted to come here with them. You simply wanted to know the address of the hospital your miraculously-escaped victim had been admitted to. Instead they offered you a ride, denied each one of your polite refusals and turned the visit into some big work-family-field-trip.

Wonderful.

The nurses won't let any of you in the room but you keep your eyes on him, watching him intently through the toughened glass window. He looks like a mummy, just lying there all wrapped in gauze like that. There are tubes in his nose and throat and stuffed deep in his veins, pumping nutrients into his body while his arms are poised stiffly to his sides. If it weren't for the tiny patch of his eyes and nose beneath the bandages, you wouldn't even be able to tell that it was Ben.

 _"Funny,"_ Pennywise chuckles, echoing somewhere deep in your mind. _"This little piggy was always afraid of mummies."_

Beverly grips your hand so tightly you can feel it going numb, pins and needles stabbing deep into your nerve-ending as the doctor prattles on about the patient's condition. Each word is muffled, meaningless, as though you're listening through tightly plugged ears. Hell, you might as well be. You haven't cared about a single word that's spilled forth from his mouth since the second he told you how long it should be until Ben finally wakes up.

From the corner of your eye Beverly shoots you a glance. It's that sad, straight-lipped look of pity that older women always seem to wear in situations like this.

 _"Disgusting,"_ Pennywise hisses as you nod back to her. _"Her sadness. Her weakness. Her pity."_

You want nothing more than for her to take those long, nicotine-stained fingers off of you. You want nothing more than for her heart to stop, for her to drop dead right there beside you so you won't have to worry about how you'll have to kill her later on. Irritatingly enough, the bitch just keeps on breathing.

Soon you can feel another presence at your back; taller, warmer, as someone steps in close behind you. "Ben's a tough guy." The voice belongs to Bill, low and deep behind your ear. "He's gonna pull through this— I can feel it."

"Oh, of course. Me too." You say slowly, gritting your teeth through your smile.

God, you wish they'd all just fucking die already.

You've been stuck around them so long your cheeks are beginning to ache, pulling taught the muscles to fake a smile for far too long. This isn't like at work, where you only have to brighten your eyes in passing or give the brisk hug at the end of the day. This is constant, suffocating; feeling as though they're watching for the slightest hint that your intentions aren't at all what they seem.

You want nothing more than to escape their searing-touches and magnifying glass stares. You want only to be free to return back home to your beloved— and when at last you do the relief is so sweet you feel tears in your eyes.

"I'm home!" You announce gleefully, slipping off your shoes and kicking them over by the mat.

When you walk through your bedroom door Pennywise is already there, waiting for you. It stands patiently in the center of your room, so tall the highest point of its hair nearly brushes against the leak-stained ceiling. Its arms hang down by its side, motionless, donning one of the widest grins it's ever worn before.

"There she is!" It croons, voice high and sweet as spun-sugar. "So very good, going to see Benny Boy for me. So obedient. So beautiful."

You can't help the blush that creeps over your skin at its praise. It rushes in towards you, pauses before wrapping you up in a loose embrace— taking your hands into its own like the beginning of a dance.

"She will kill him soon," Pennywise continues, slowly twirling you around now like it did that night on its stage. "Yes, yes, I can see it! Such a good girl! She will! She will! _She will!"_

A childlike giggle rises up from your throat as it spins you around faster and faster. Your feet struggle to keep up with its pace, stepping and twirling wherever it leads you. When suddenly it lets you go you land gently against the edge of your bed, tossing your head back to laugh some more.

"I love you," you choke out through your delighted cackles. It's a good type of laughter; the kind that rises above the ceiling in bubbles and makes your chest ache from the lack of air.

When you open your eyes again it's right there in front of you, standing just in front of your opened legs.

"You did just what I wanted today, little thing." Pennywise closes the space between you, rests its hands on your knees. You catch a glimpse of that familiar little grin, can see you it's about to reward you for your efforts.

_An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a favor for a fuck._

It begins to bow its head between your thighs but you place a hand out quickly to stop it.

"Your powers," you begin, lightly dragging your fingers over the coarse forest of its hair. "You can do more than just shape-shift... more than just move things with your mind and read my memories. You can do... You can do a lot of different things, right?"

"I have _many_ powers."

"In the tunnels— the illusions. It was like... it was like you were in all these different places at once."

"Spit it out." It hisses, drool beginning to drip from the corners of its mouth.

"So you... if you wanted to... you could make more of yourself? Split yourself into— into more?"

Pennywise's eyes glow brighter. "You are a filthy little child."

You watch as another version of itself, a replica in every sense of the word, steps out from behind it. The sight should be haunting, jarring; but almost nothing is surprising anymore, not with Pennywise.

"Filthy," the clowns continue, speaking in perfect synchronization. Excitement trembles in you as they both crawl onto either side of you, tearing off your clothes with so many gloved fingers. "But _clever."_

They fuck you until you bleed.

They leave you lying stretched out on your bed like a fresh murder-victim, their black cum stinging like alcohol against your overused holes. You can still feel them inside of you, the ghost of their presence and the fresh memories of their cocks sliding in and out.

It was beautiful, the way everywhere you looked there was Pennywise. It was unlike anything you'd ever felt before; the love of your life pleasing you twice as masterfully as it ever could before.

Your muscles shriek in horror from being bent in half, tossed around, and contorted into shapes you never knew you were capable of. The friction-burns at the bottoms of your hands and knees will be enough to make you hiss each time you move. Agony slices right through your spine each time you turn your neck, though to think any of what you feel is unwelcome would be a misunderstanding.

 _Because sometimes_ — you think to yourself as Pennywise curls up closer against you to rest— _sometimes pain is all worth it._


	19. Maternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pennywise grows furious as weeks pass with Ben still alive. Its behavior towards you becomes unbearable, so you decide to scout out his hospital room once more to come up with a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot happening here lmao.

"I'm worried, Pennywise... I'm _afraid."_

You feel like a child, biting your nails down to the nubs; pacing your bedroom floor like a restless house cat. There's a pit in your stomach, dread filling up your body and thickening your blood like snake-venom each time you think about the inevitable.

It rolls its head over to you as it hangs draped upside down over the side of your bed. There's a glimmer of amusement in its yellow eyes as it begs the question, "And what, child, could you ever _possibly_ have to be afraid of?"

You let out a sigh, dragging your feet to close some of the distance between you. "It's Ben. I— I really don't know what I'm gonna do. It's been over a _week_ , and I still don't know how I'm gonna be able to kill him before he—"

"Stupid girl!" It hisses, suddenly flipped upright with piranha-teeth spilling over the edges of its lips. "You mistake my words! I told you that you would kill him, and kill him you will do!"

Its outburst makes you flinch, fear creeping up your back as it bares its sickly-yellow teeth at you. The anger fizzles out nearly as quickly as it came on, its face softening back into its infantile demeanor and holding your face in its hands. No matter what its honeyed words may try to tell you, you're smart enough to know that was no statement of encouragement. It was a threat, as dark and as clear as the night sky itself.

One week turns to two, and before you know it nearly a month has passed by with Ben Hanscom still alive in his hospital bed. You've tried your damnedest not to have to go back there, too weary of being remembered and drawing attention from the staff. Thankfully you've been able to hear updates on his unchanging condition as Bill and Beverly whisper and pray in the backroom of his office. You roll your eyes at their pleas and pathetic words of hope, at how futile it all truly is. Pennywise told you there was no God— that there was only _it_. If there ever did exist anything more powerful than Pennywise, you'd certainly never want to meet it.

It stops coming to see you in your room, as though it is far too disappointed and disgusted at you to keep up the charade. Thankfully you were able to find a mattress discarded deep within the mounds of garbage. You're able to find some comfort in at least being able to stay near it.

Now, it scarcely even humors you as you come to lie obediently at the base of its heap in the sewer. The thought of letting it down each night when you come into its lair is like a fucking axe to the neck— a blow so hard it knocks the breath from your lungs each time it rolls its eyes at you. Annoyance and disdain creep through its voice whenever it speaks to you, only ever to ask you why you haven't completed your task.

"Is that little fatso dead yet?"

"No, not y—"

"Then why are you here?"

It doesn't fuck you anymore. It doesn't even _touch_ you. Your skin aches to feel the silk and cotton of its gloves, pines to lap up the fluids that leak from its cock. The agony you're feeing now, you haven't felt anything like it in _months_. The emptiness, the aloneness— none of it. Not since before you met Pennywise.

" _You were nothing before I came to you."_

Those words echo over and over in your head, so loudly that sometimes you think you're hearing them aloud again. They pound furiously against your skull, forever branded on your brain like an ink-black tattoo.

It's gotten harder for you to remember what your life was like before you moved back to Derry; your home, your friends, your family. It feels as though there's graveyard fog trapped deep within your mind, shrouding your memories and fading them out until you can scarcely even separate dream from reality. It's gotten to the point that when you close your eyes to try, agony spears through your temples like a knife to each side of your face.

You tell yourself it doesn't matter anymore. How could anything before Pennywise ever possibly matter?

The torture going on inside of you now is fucking unbearable. And of course, it doesn't help that it only seems to be drawing those pathetic losers in even closer; making you want to rip your hair out each time they speak to you far too gently. You'd love nothing more than to run a knife across each of their throats, watch Pennywise drink the scarlet fluid as it pours out. You'd like to feel its tongue thrashing in your mouth, urging you to taste them just as it did with Mike Hanlon.

Because the tears that stream down your cheeks when you think no one is watching— they're like blood in the water to those people. They detect your sadness as skillfully as Pennywise can detect your fear, swarming you like the mindless little ants that they are.

You know they're trying to fill the nonexistent gaps inside of you that Mike and Ben have left inside of you. You know they're trying to fill their own gaps as well.

"Are they... Are they bad people?"

Pennywise hardly even looks down at you.

"The Losers." You repeat, wringing your hands together as you crane your neck to meet its eyes. "Are they bad people?"

"Not bad," it hisses, talons bursting through the fingertips of its gloves. " _Evil_."

At last, you decide that you can't put it off any longer. You have to go back there— back to the hospital. You have to scout it out, have to take note of every camera, every nurse, every speck of dirt that lies in the crevices of that stupid fucking room. You have to end this.

You have to kill him. You have to kill him. You have to kill him.

The sun beats down on your shoulders as you head out after work— much hotter out than you had possibly expected. Thankfully you only had to work an early shift, giving you plenty of time to plan and figure out exactly what to do to send Ben Hanscom deep into the earth. There has to be a way to put air bubbles into his IV, make his heart stop from the embolism. Maybe you can find a pair of scrubs, impersonate your way into—

"Hey! Do you need a ride?"

Dread fills up your gut as you stop in your tracks, turning around to see Eddie's car veered over toward the sidewalk behind you. _Oh Goddamn it, Eddie. Please, just fucking leave me alone._

You bite down on your tongue until you taste iron, squeezing your eyes closed and trying to brace yourself to answer him calmly. "I'm fine. Thanks." The words seethe through your teeth, sharp and tinged with acid.

"Where are you even going?"

Your breath hitches in your throat and you think about lying, but then decide against it. "I'm going to the hospital. To see Ben."

"The hosp— you're _walking_? It's not even in fucking Derry!"

"I like to walk."

You start forwards again, a quicker pace than before. Just a few more steps and you'll be able to turn the corner, be able to get away from him.

"I was thinking about going and seeing him myself, actually."

An audible groan escapes your lips when you realize he's still following you, driving slowly to match the speed of your walking. _No you fucking weren't,_ you think to yourself, shaking your head in exasperation.

Your voice is low and grating, hoping you'll be able to thwart him when you answer him, "You know how this looks, right? Pressuring some girl on the street to get into your vehicle? Seems like something a serial killer would do."

"Just call me Ed Bundy!" Eddie chuckles delightedly at his own joke, suddenly stopping when you turn around and screw your face up in distaste. "Oh fuck, that was weird. That wasn't funny. I don't know why I— that wasn't a good joke."

By now the sun is getting to you, already drenching the pits of your arms and back with sweat. You'll look like a filthy mess by the time you reach the hospital in this heat. There's no way someone like that wouldn't draw attention.

You peel off the outer layer of your top, lurching forward on your knees for a second to catch your breath. You can't put this off any longer. You have to go see him— and maybe having another person with you will keep the staff's eyes from watching you too closely.

"Alright, Eddie. You win."

The cool air of the hospital feels like heaven against your still-flushed skin. You do your best to nonchalantly put distance between yourself and Eddie as he leans in too close to you, watching his comatose friend with sympathy and pain in his eyes. He hasn't said a word since he's peered through the glass, as rare an occurrence as any. That's how you know that it must really hurt.

It almost makes you feel guilty. He has no idea the real reason why he's brought you here. The next time you come back here, Ben Hanscom's miserable life will come to an end.

"I'm sorry." Eddie's words are hushed, so low you almost don't even hear them.

Your brows furrow, turning slightly towards him. "What?"

"I'm so sorry— for what I said about Ben. I shouldn't have said anything about the way he looks at you. It was wrong of me, you know—getting jealous. You don't belong to me... I don't _own_ you. Nobody owns you."

_Oh yes they do._

You realize you haven't spoken in a while, and Eddie's still staring at you. You search desperately for an answer, gratitude resting in the space between your jaws. Instead you say nothing, offering him only the saddest excuse for a smile you've ever managed before.

_God, are you fucking sweating again?_

"How long did you wanna stay?" Eddie hooks his thumbs into his pockets, raises his shoulders slightly. "I mean, I'm not in a hurry or anything... But if I stay out too long... Myra..."

"I'm ready."

Eddie nods, uncrosses his legs and stands back up straight on the heels of his feet. You turn to head down the hallway leading back to the exit, shoes squeaking loudly against the floor. You only make it a few steps before Eddie calls out to you, stopping you in your tracks.

"Wait, I just wanna see one last thing."

Your shoulders drop in disappointment, biting back another vexed groan. You just want to leave. You just want to go back to Pennywise's lair. Reluctantly, you drag your feet as you follow him into the elevator; prompting him to grab you by the wrist and pull you to move faster.

"Oh, come on. It'll only take a second."

It doesn't feel like a second. It feels like a fucking eternity for the car to climb its way up, jerking precariously each time it passes another floor. Ammonia and antiseptic floods your nostrils, drowning out even the spiced scent of Eddie's nauseatingly-perfumed deodorant. When at last the elevator dings and the door slides open you find yourself practically gasping for air.

Weird, how you've come to be able to ignore the stench of the heart of Derry's sewers, yet a hospital proves to be nearly too difficult of a challenge.

He guides you to another glass window, almost exactly like the one in front of Ben's room. He presses his fingertips to the edge at the bottom of the frame, peers intently inside. You follow his dark eyes, turn to see what could have possibly captured his attention so well.

"Oh my God, Eddie... This... This is weird."

"What? No, it's not." He shoots you a look, turns back to stare through the glass. "Just two grown adults browsing some strangers' babies. Nothing weird going on here."

Eddie's face lights up as he watches a nurse free the folded ear of one of the tiny infant's caps. Nearly all of them are asleep, bundled tightly in their plastic cribs. Though you're trying hard to keep your face looking stoic, you can feel the corners of your mouth twitch when you spot a baby with a tuft of bright ginger hair, just like—

"Do you think you'll ever have children?"

His question takes you by surprise, nearly punching out the air right from your lungs. Even if you and your lover were both of the same species you know deep down that the cancerous, black seed that your lover sews could never bring forth life; only death and destruction.

"No," you answer, and something in your chest breaks.

Eddie must be able to see the pain in the corner of your eyes, because as soon as he looks at you he pushes himself back and tells you he's ready to leave.

Neither of you say a word to each other for the entire ride home. You can tell that he feels he's offended you, feels he's hurt you in some way. There's nothing but the gentle rolling of his car's wheels against the road until finally you reach the street you always lie and say you live on instead.

"You can just drop me off right here."

Eddie responds with a nod, pulls over to a halt by the edge of the sidewalk. Your heart pounds as he leans over your body, afraid he's moving in to kiss you. You search your mind for Pennywise's voice, desperately asking if you're still supposed to be seducing him but all you can find is darkness and silence.

Thankfully he turns his head, reaches to open your passenger-side door for you. You let out a little sigh of relief, meeting his eyes again for the first time since you left the hospital. It's a strange feeling, looking into someone's eyes after looking into Pennywise's for so long. You always expect them to change colors; glow red and yellow each time you spite them, fade to blue when you do as they ask. You forget that when you look into a human's eyes, they always stay the same.

When Eddie pulls away, you head to your car and drive straight to Pennywise's lair. This time there are no manipulations of the mind, no winding catacombs or eerie sounds as you make your way to the trash-filled opening.

"Pennywise!" You shout when you spot it, perched proudly atop the center of the mound. "I think I know how I'm gonna be able to kill—"

"Traitor!"

The clown-faced being leaps ferociously towards you, nearly floating through the air before it crashes down just in front of your feet. You feel yourself gasp, backing away as the shockwaves rattle through the ground.

 _"I think I know how to kill Ben!_ " It mocks, taking a long step towards you. Its teeth are bared and stained, dripping with pink-red foam and riddled with freshly gnawed flesh. "Lies! You know _nothing!"_

You've never seen it so angry before— not even in the beginning. Its hair stands up like flames on its head, eyes black and narrowed into little horizontal slits. All of the fear you've felt around it before, nothing compares to this.

"What did I do? I don't under— I don't understand!"

"Tell me, child. Do you know what the others call you when you're not around?"

"Wh-what? No, I—"

" _Weak_." It hisses at you, dropping down on its hands and knees and arching its back like an angry cat. "They call you _pathetic_. You do not hear the things they whisper about you, but I do. I hear _everything_."

You can feel your eyes beginning to well up, shame darkening the flesh of your cheeks. "I'll be able to kill him soon, I swear! I had to see him again— had to—"

"Had to waste our time! Had to frolic around with that Girly Boy! Had to stare at the disgusting little babes like the mindless human that you are! I told you they were evil! I told you to kill them all!" Terror slaps through your body like a bolt of lightning when you see that it's changing, muscles and joints contorting and fumbling against each other. Its voice is distorted, almost like a scream as it continues, "Had to accomplish _absolutely nothing!_ "

A squeal escapes your throat as you drop to the ground, covering your eyes. You've seen some of the beasts that it can turn into. Nothing in you has any desire to see this one.

"Evil! They are all nothing but evil!"

Though you can't see it you can still hear it—the thumping of its body as it convulses violently on the ground. _What the fuck is it? What the fuck is it turning into?_

Morbid curiosity gets the better of you as you peer, horrified, through the cracks between your fingers at its face. It's not a demon, not a deadly animal or monster from one of your nightmares.

It's your mother. _Oh God it's— it's become your fucking mother._

Tears stream from your eyes as you push yourself back from it, kicking up dirt and dust around you. Seeing her here, seeing her at all, it cracks your mind open like an eggshell. "Oh fuck, oh please just fucking stop!" You beg, blubbering in terror and gut-wrenching pain. "Please, not this!"

She crawls towards you, breath hot and acrid as it is wafts in your face. She opens her mouth, and when she begins to speak you feel your veins turn to ice.

"You were always so stupid! Always a failure! From the moment you sprung out from between my legs I never wanted you! Not ever!" You shriek loudly as she rears her arm back, enunciating each word with a violent slap to your face. _"Stupid! Little! Failure!"_

Every strike against your cheek and temple is harder than the last, pain bolting up the side of your head. She catches your arm when you put it up to shield yourself, as quick and unforgiving as a bear-trap.

"Please, let me go!"

"Awe, sweetie. Is this your bad arm? The one that mean old clown almost ripped off? Dislocated? Pulled right out of place?"

You let out another scream as her steel grip tightens, inhuman, so hard you can feel your fingers curling up like the legs of a dying spider. "Let me go! Let me go! _Let me go!"_

Dread racks your body as your mother lifts up your sleeve, exposes the peak of your shoulder. "Look at that; it's hardly even healed yet."

"Please," you croak, "Please _don't."_

She pauses for only a heartbeat, and the expression on her face is so much like Pennywise's that for a moment you think it shifted its form. "I expected more from you," she says, clucking her mouth. "That was my mistake."

She takes one last look at your arm.

And she rips the bone from its socket.

There are no words to describe the feeling that surges through the entirety of your chest and shoulder. Agony comes pretty close. Blistering, white, slamming into your brain like a sledgehammer and knocking the breath from your lungs. You don't even notice when she— it— disappears completely.

Something tickles your lips and chin as it trickles down your face. Blood, you realize, when a bit trails down into your mouth. There's nothing you can do but collapse backwards onto the ground, try to keep yourself from blacking out. You don't know when, or if, you'll have enough strength again to stand up and leave. You stare up at the ceiling, and you think about home.


	20. Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go to Bill's to pick up your paycheck, find him drinking in his office. He asks you to stay and talk with him for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading and commenting, your kind words make my heart swell!

You reach for the handle of the door, surprised when it swings open all at once to reveal a sour-breathed Beverly on her way out. She doesn't seem to see you, stumbling and nearly slamming into your injured arm before rushing into a parked cab behind you.

_What the fuck?_

You pause for a moment, scrunching your face up and shaking your head before continuing to push your way through the entrance. Everything is pitch-dark, save for the dim glow of the backroom office as the light spills out through the half-opened door. Bill never closes up this early on Fridays. Your muscles pull tight like drawn bowstrings, suddenly afraid of what you might be walking into.

"I know I'm kind of late, but I was hoping I could still pick up my— Jesus, Bill, are you... are you _drunk?"_

Bill's entire body jerks in surprise, spurring him to lift up his head that had been lying flat and unmoving against his desk. "What? No, no, just... just had a few drinks." He rubs his fingers over the imprint the indentions of his desk have left behind on his cheek before motioning to the chair across from him. "Hey, wait. There's something I've been wanting to t-talk to you about."

His stutter is creeping back, the one he'd fought so hard to get rid of in his youth. You've noticed it before; reappearing for a while after he'd learned Mike was missing, and then again when he'd found out about Ben.

For a moment you wonder if it's purely from the alcohol, or if something else has happened to trigger it. Suddenly you begin to feel very aware of the fact that you're alone in a room with a drunken man nearly twice your size— who now has  _two_ friends that you've tried to brutally murder.

"Come on, sit." Bill repeats, and you feel your heart begin to pound. He must be able to see the fear in your eyes, the way they've widened at his words because quickly he softens, shakes his head reassuringly. "No, no, it's not like that. You're not in any t-trouble or anything. I just wanna talk— here, have a drink. You like to d-drink?"

Digging your nails into your palms, you search your brain for an excuse to leave altogether. Your eyes travel over the edges of the half-empty handle, watching curiously as it sloshes around in Bill's grip. You open your mouth to tell him you shouldn't, but then you close it again before making a sound.

Why the hell shouldn't you? Your malevolent lover hasn't shown itself to you since it tried to rip your arm off. What could possibly be at home that you're in any hurry to return to?

"Alright." You let out a sigh, sitting down in the rickety chair across from his desk. "I'll have a drink."

Bill pours you a glass. You hold it up in the light, studying the lipstick stain at the edge of it that must have belonged to Beverly. He smiles when you take a sip, amused by how poorly you stifle a gag at the taste.

"Strong, huh?"

"Not at all." You choke out sarcastically, putting a fist up to your mouth to keep yourself from vomiting.

By the time you've reached the bottom it's a lot easier for you to swallow, the burn and acrid flavor much easier to bear. Each mouthful still makes the bile rise up in your throat, but you welcome the way it warms you from the inside out. Two glasses turns to three, and then four, and then before you know it it's hitting you— slamming over you like a wave. It feels like a blanket draped over your mind, softening the glow of the lights above you and dulling the pain that aches like a bullet-wound in your chest.

"How's— How'd— you b-break your— your—" Bill motions to your sling, words stuttered and slurring over his bourbon-slicked lips.

"I uh... I had a bad fall. It's not broken, though. Just dislocated."

"D-Does it hurt?"

"Yes." You let out a laugh, louder than you had expected. "Yes, it really... fucking... hurts."

Bill frowns, face reddened from the alcohol. You trace the veins in his eyes, sprouting out over his scleras like tiny red roots. If he was drunk when you first came in here, you're surprised he's even conscious now.

"Can I... can I ask you something?" You cock your head, curiosity racking your inebriated mind.

"Sh-shoot."

"You and Beverly..."

"N-no. N-never."

You narrow your eyes.

Bill sighs, places his hands out in front of himself. " _Well_..."

You let out a loud laugh. "I knew it."

God, you're really fucking drunk. It's hitting even harder now, and to think you thought you were wasted just an hour ago. You drop your head to rest the side of your face against Bill's desk, enjoying the coolness against your flushed skin. Fuck, you really hope the room doesn't start spinning.

Bill sits down his tumbler a little too hard against the desk, spilling amber liquid over the side from the force. He readjusts his position in his seat, leaning forward to speak again.

"Things— things just happen. We've kn-known each other s-s-since we were k-kids."

"Kids," you mutter, circling your finger around the rim of your glass. "I want kids. I want... I want a _baby."_

"Audra wanted k-kids. I su-p-pose we're t-too old to have our own n-now."

"I thought you had one." You raise your arm weakly to point at the picture hanging up on the wall behind him. "Isn't that your son?"

Something washes over Bill all at once. He turns to glance at the picture on the wall, color suddenly leaving his face. It looks like he's seen a ghost, furrowing his brow and shaking his head softly.

"N-no, that's... That's n-not my s-son." He turns back to you, suddenly looking as sober as he does every day. "Why d-did you c-come back to Derry? You s-s-said you moved b-back here. Why did you c-come back?"

"It's... It's a really long story." You feel a lump in your throat upon answering, stiff and dry like a rock.

Hasn't Bill asked you this before? You could have sworn he'd asked you this before.

Bill nods his head. "I m-moved back to D-Derry recently t-too. We— we all d-did."

"Why?"

You can see a twitch in the corner of Bill's eye, so open and blue. There's hurt there, cold and deep like the ocean. You think of the way they'd spilled over with tears when he'd found out what had happened to Ben.

It makes you think back to that morning in the woods, swinging your axe into Mike's body. You think about how easily it'd been for Pennywise to talk you into lighting that match and for the first time since any of it happened— you feel guilt. Real, true, gut-wrenching guilt.

You had hated yourself for hesitating and letting Mike almost get away. You had tortured yourself for not finishing off Ben like you were supposed to after having so many chances. You'd felt like such a failure, having been given the task to murder two people but being unable to kill either of them.

But what if you don't feel upset that it didn't happen by your hands? 

What if you feel thankful?

"I wanted to t-tell you s-something. I've been p-putting it off."

Bill's words break through your thoughts. You flick your eyes up to glance at him, head still draped over the table in exhaustion. It's a hard-fought battle to keep your eyes opened. If you let them rest for even more than a moment you'll surely fall asleep.

"Is this what you were wanting to talk to me about? Why you wanted me to sit down?" It almost makes you laugh again, thinking about the fact that you've been here for hours without getting to the point.

"The c-clown," Bill continues, and immediately he has your attention. "Richie... He s-said it was the c-clown. I said we weren't s-sure. But I think... I th-think he was right. I th-think that's what got... th-them."

Your jaws part, but you can't force an answer out. You sit up straight, holding your breath as Bill continues.

"It's h-hard f-for me to r-remember what happened... but p-pieces come back to me s-sometimes. I know that it was evil... I know that it got— well... I r-remember the things that it d-did to us."

"What did it do to you?" You draw your eyes over the lines in Bill's forehead, gaze darting around as the blood begins to roar in your ears.

"That's why I hired you, you know. Your p-posters. I knew you had s-seen it before. I felt... I f-felt a connection to you, and you s-seemed so sad. I wanted to help you, the way I couldn't help... c-couldn't help..."

"Couldn't help who, Bill?"

He shifts around in his chair, brings a hand to rest at his chin. Something stabs at your chest, recognizing all too well the pain that's plastered so clearly on his face. It's the same kind of pain that you were trying to drink to forget, the pain that hit you the second Pennywise made it clear that his love would only ever be conditional. It's loss, heartbreak; as gaping and miserable as the day that it happened.

It's like watching a damn burst, the way the tears begin spilling from Bill's eyes as he croaks out an answer. "His n-name... His name was _Georgie."_

Something creeps over you this time when Bill turns again to look at that picture on the wall. That little boy, the way he smiles so widely. It feels as if he's staring at you, youthful eyes burning holes into your skin. It's hard to speak now from how dry your mouth has gotten, but you know that you have to ask.

"Bill... Who was Georgie?"

There's something about the question that promises you aren't going to like the answer. it. It makes the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end— that feeling you get right before lightning strikes, right before something horrible happens.

"He— he was m-my," Bill pauses, runs his hands through his hair and fights back more tears from falling. "He was my k-kid brother. I still miss him. I miss him s-so m-much."

You feel your jaw clattering, tremors vibrating through your entire body. You don't want to ask. God, you really don't want to fucking ask.

But you do anyway. You bite down on the insides of your cheeks, and you open your mouth, and you ask.

"What happened to him?"

Bill closes his eyes. When he opens them again you have your answer, but you wait for him to tell you anyway. "The clown... It was the clown." There's no stutter in his words this time. They're as clear as anything he's ever said to you before in your life.

Horror slams into you like a freight train. You put a hand up to your temple, feeling the sweat that's began to pool there.

"No," you whisper, so low you can hardly even hear it yourself.

It wouldn't do that. You look back at the happy little boy in the picture, baseball bat draped over his shoulder. It would never fucking do that.

"There was b-blood... pouring out of the drain... it k-killed him... it ate him..."

"No, that— it can't— that's not true!"

You stand up from your seat so quickly that it clatters to the floor behind you. Bill flinches, confusion riddling his face at your sudden outburst. He's drunk enough not to make the connection, still blubbering out words that you can hardly hear over the roaring of blood in your ears.

"It d-did. He was only," Bill pauses to wipe the tears from his eyes. "He was only s-seven years old."

"No... No, that— that's a _child."_

It would never kill a child! Never, never had you seen it hurt a child! Those tiny bones in its lair, the little pieces of flesh floating above, those aren't from children! They simply aren't! They can't be!

"His last p-picture."

"It's not true," you whisper again and again, as though to tell yourself more than Bill. "It's not true. It's not true. It's not true."

No matter how broken you were, how lonely— you never would have fucked something that killed and ate innocent children. The boy's eyes follow you as you back up against the other side of the wall like a cornered animal. You never would have loved something like that. You couldn't have. It isn't true. It isn't true. It isn't fucking true.

"That's what it d-does..." Bill insists, agony rearing its ugly head again in his voice. "It eats ch-children. It— It says their fears are easier to manipulate. It lures them, and then it k-kills them."  
  
You bare your teeth, readying your mouth again to call him a liar. "No, no, that's not true!"

It kills disgusting people, evil people! People like The Losers! Not children! Never children!

All those innocent children gone missing in Derry, empty chairs in your classrooms, all the tears wept from their mothers; that wasn't Pennywise. It wasn't. It wasn't. It—

And then there it is, the memory. Walking too far by yourself on your tiny legs until you couldn't hear the deep cries of your name to come back. You can see the clouds above growing fat and dark, welling up with the promise of rain. You knew you'd seen that clown's face somewhere before. You know now why it had been so familiar to you. You can see it all now. Hardly tall enough to peer over the top of the gutter you could make out those animal eyes glowing at you in the darkness before an adult was able to snatch you back up, gloved-hand beckoning you to come closer.

" _Child."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, things are getting pretty rough! I'd been on the fence about making it more clear in earlier chapters that the reader was unaware Pennywise preyed upon children... but I didn't want this conflict to seem so inevitable or obvious. But anyways, thanks so much again for reading and responding! It all really does mean so much to me!


	21. Home-Stretch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filled with anger, you go to stand at the entrance of the sewer to air out your grievances. You then decide that none of this can go on any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think I covered it in the archive tags but there's definitely some triggering content in this chapter! Self-hatred, suicidal thoughts, dub-con, abusive relationship, violence, and self-harm! A dark chapter! Please be warned!

"I used to be better."

You stare into the gaping black hole of the tunnel with your jaw clenched so tightly you think your teeth might crack. It's like looking into the entrance at the gates of Hell itself, sinister magic and flesh-eating evil spilling out into the air around you. You know that you won't go inside— even you aren't stupid enough to face it now. It doesn't stop you from imagining though; waiting, seething, hating.

Everything hurts. Every fiber, every thought, every memory. They ache with the pain of knowing that you weren't a monster before you came back here. They ache with the pain of not knowing whether you still are.

"I was a good person. I was happy. People needed me. I had a purpose."

Rain begins to spill out from the clouds overhead. It starts as a drizzle, nothing more than a few drops against your red-hot skin. Before too long it becomes a violent storm, wind whipping it sideways as it soaks you to the bone. Still, you stay standing here. Even as the mud reaches up to your ankles. Even as the thunder roars and crackles around you, lightning striking at the ground in the distance.

You ball your hands into fists at your sides, legs stamped defiantly straight against the early morning tempest. You know that it can see you, watching as you shatter into pieces. You know that it doesn't care.

"I hate this stupid fucking town! I hate the things I've done here! I hate _myself_! I hate _you_!"

You can feel your voice breaking, choking out tears at your last words. You fall to your knees, sinking deeper into the sewage-stained clay around you. Sobs begin to wrack your body, wave after wave of frustration and agony. Nothing helps; not screaming into the void and hoping that it listens to you, not digging your fingers into the wet grass and ripping it out, not weeping until you have no more tears to weep.

Fuck, you can't do this anymore.

You've got to get out of here. You've got to get out of this horrible fucking town, out of this nightmare of a place that you've been damned to endure again. Something deep inside of you screams for you to cross that line, flee and change your name and put everything that happened here behind you. You have to leave this place.

You have to leave _it._

Silt, caked-on sludge, and rainwater drench the floorboards and seat of your car as you race back to your house. You throw everything you can into garbage-bags, suitcases, boxes; packing up every scrap of personal belongings that you dared to bring with you to this place. You make blistering work of it all, clearing as much as you can out of each room.

Thankfully you didn't bring much to start with. The sun is already in the center of the sky before you're even halfway finished.

You rush into your bathroom, tossing your toiletries into plastic containers. You tear open the cabinet beneath the sink, reaching inside to make sure you've gotten everything when your hand brushes across it.

A box of razors, just like the one you'd found when you moved in here. Something opens up deep within your gut like a festering wound as you sit down to rest against the outer wall of the tub behind you. Jesus Christ. It feels as though you were _meant_ to find them.

What if you aren't supposed to leave? What if someone as fucked-up as you can't ever be saved? That guilt that you feel inside of you, is it because you didn't know the things it had done?

Is it because you know now, and a piece of you still loves it anyway?

The tiny slips of metal start clattering around as you begin to shake, anguish welling up behind your eyes. They call to you now, telling you how pathetic and broken you must be to have ever let a thing like that control you. They ask you kind of a person lets something like that inside of them. They sing to you, low and deep and welcoming. Two little strokes is all it would— No. You can still get out of here. 

You won't die in this place. Not here. Not now.

You gather the shiny red boxes that lay discarded at the foot of the bed and pile them into your backyard. Just like Ben you set them all ablaze, breathing through the fabric of your shirt as they burn. Everything you wish you'd never laid your hands upon goes into the fire: the baseball bat you'd used to strike Ben, the axe you'd used to hack Mike, even the box of razors beneath the sink. They all rise up to the air in ashes, never to be remembered again.

Once the flames have done their duty you extinguish them, returning instead to move the last remaining boxes into the tiny bit of space left in your car. The things you can't carry on your own, the things you can't fit into the trunk or backseat; they'll all just have to stay.

On the home stretch now, you think to yourself as you bend over to pick up the last container. Your body shakes at how close you are to getting out. You will leave this all behind, become someone who doesn't need a child-killing monster to make them feel—

"Going somewhere?"

The sound of Pennywise's voice behind you makes your heart rise up in your throat, hot and choking like vomit. Panic fills you, every single inch of you.

You don't even turn to look at it. Numb with dread, you stumble like a drunken fool to the driver's side and crawl your way inside.

_No, no, not this. Not now._

You shove the key into the ignition, and it disappears in your fingertips. When you look down at your hand you see dozens of black spiders, scuttling wildly up the length of your arm with their mandibles clicking. Horror rises in your throat, expelling a scream as you flail to shake them off.

Pennywise giggles in wicked delight, suddenly appearing in your passenger seat. "I thought what we had was special!"

You're still screaming even after you've opened the car door and gone crashing into the muddy ground at the edge of your tires. The earth gives way under your feet like quicksand when you stand up, another display of Pennywise's power. It stretches around you in all directions, pulling you under like the hungry mouth of a snake.

Tears stream down your face as you fight to reach the safety of the concrete road just yards away. The muscles in your shoulder shriek from overuse. You're practically swimming in it now, soil and sand reaching just below the pits of your arms. By the time you finally reach the asphalt and pull yourself up you're exhausted, fueled only by the terror of what it might do if it catches you.

Once you're on your feet you pump your legs with everything you have left inside of you, shouting as you slam yourself against the neighbor's door.

"Help me! Somebody please help me!"

Your fists pound against the screen of the door so hard that it gives in, ripping away to the glass beneath it. Someone's in there, you can see them.

"Let me in! Please, God, let me in! Let me in!"

At last you hear the faint creaking of the knob as it turns. The door creaks open just slightly, the dull eye of an old woman peering through the crack.

"Please, you have to let me in! Someone's after me! Help me— Please!"

The elder stares at you in confusion, raises her glasses to her eyes as if she doesn't believe you're really standing there in front of her. "Someone's _what_ now?"

"Someone he's— He's going to kill me! You have to let me in or he'll kill me! Please!"

Her wrinkled jaw parts as she takes a quick glance behind you, swings open the door and steps aside without warning. Your body lurches forward, balancing yourself with your arms to keep from falling face-first into the hallway.

It takes you a moment to realize that this isn't the house of the old lady, but the empty shell of your own. It was all just another illusion, trapping you back inside your house and slamming the door shut behind you.

You whip around on your feet, turning to glare at the horror standing in your entry-hallway.

Pennywise grins back at you, drool spilling over the edge of its painted lips as it speaks. "Yes, yes! Look at your eyes! Look at the wrath that burns in them so brightly! Oh, have I missed that fire."

"You asshole! You _eat_ them!" Your words can hardly be picked apart from how furiously your voice is cracking.

It lets out a little huff of air, rolling its eyes but keeping the rest of its body lax and still.

You continue screaming at it anyways, evoking nothing from it but a blank stare. "Not just the adults! Not just the bad people! You eat children! Innocent _children_ — just like Georgie!"

Even as you bring your hands to your hair and begin ripping at it, it doesn't move a muscle.

"You awful fucking creature! I hate you! I fucking _hate_ you!"

Nothing.

Not even as you stand, slam the edges of your fists into the walls until bloody pulp sprays out from your skin and onto the wallpaper. Not even as you shatter the hallway-mirror, send thousands of glimmering pieces onto the floor.

"How could you! What are you? _What are you?"_

"Whatever it is that you are dealing with, I am simply not interested." It bares its teeth into a snarl, those predatory-fish fangs replacing the childlike grin before them. "You knew what I was. I can smell the lie on you as easily as I can smell your fear. So tasty. So sweet."

Fury lights your mind on fire, anger fueling you as you grab for a shard of glass on the floor. You let out a cry as you rear your arm back, then drive it down towards the dead center of its eye.

It catches your wrist without blinking. Wordlessly, easily, it spins you around; pins your hands together just above your navel. It presses itself against your back to hold you in place, wrapped vice-like around you.

"Let me go!" Your words are high and frantic, a brisk pang of fear replacing the courage that had just been there.

"You knew what I was. Time and time again I showed you what truly lied within me, and each time you came back and begged me for more. Pathetic. Little. Girl."

"I'm not a little girl."

 _"Little girl."_ Pennywise repeats. Insists.

It presses its nose against the top of your head, looming so tall behind you. It takes a deep inhale through its nostrils as though to savor the scent of your hair.

A hot tear streams down your face, panic lodged deep in your throat. You flick your eyes down at the glass still held firmly in your hand. You press the inside of your opposite wrist against it, so sharp and lethal to the touch. You can feel those big lilac veins pumping up beneath the surface your skin. Quickly you press the edge of the glass inside, blood dripping out from the first puncture. You ready yourself to glide it up your arms, biting down on your tongue so that—

"Ah, ah, ah!" The shard clatters to the floor as Pennywise wrenches your fingers open to stop you. "Can't have that!"

"Please," You grit out, voice low and seething. "I can't do this anymore. Helping you— _loving_ you— I just can't do it anymore. I can't be _here_ anymore."

Pennywise squeezes you tighter in its arms. You squirm from pain and the lack of air, fighting desperately to break free. It's just like being in that straitjacket, the thought of having your bones ripped from their sockets unendurable as it prods at the back of your mind.

"Oh, yes..." Pennywise hisses, nuzzling its face against your ear. "Yes, I have missed this _very_ much."

It grinds into you, deliberately, slowly enough so that you can feel now the blood-hot hardness pressing flush against your ass. You let out a gasp as it brings your raw, aching hands down between your thighs; guiding you in little circles over the thin cloth covering your clit. It hooks its enormous feet between your own, urges you to spread your knees wider as it bends your body forward.

"Such a filthy girl... How easily you open up for me... Like a pretty little flower... My _favorite_ little flower." Its words are warm and breathy against the nape of your neck.

Some unknown force wrenches your head back while its arms are still busy wrapped around your own.

 _Its powers_ , you think to yourself as it grazes its teeth gently over your pulse-point.

"You _like_ this. You _want_ this. You don't care about those little kiddies. All you want..." Pennywise pauses, and you can feel your zipper coming undone beneath its fingertips, "Is for me to be inside of you."

There's no time for quips, no time to even squint your eyes in abhorrence before it slides its gloved-hand into the front of your pants and presses a finger quickly inside of you. Pleasure, as unwelcome now as it may be, creeps over you like a fever. It's been so long since it touched you last. You can feel your body tightening around it, already painfully close to the edge.

"Ah, yes. You are  _soaking_ , child. Do you want it like this? Bent over and sniveling about every foolish child I've ever devoured?" It grinds harder against your ass, dry-humping you as it fucks you slowly with its fingers. "Yes, yes. You'd love that, wouldn't you? Coming all over my sick, monstrous cock while I feast upon your fears?"

You screw your face up in contempt and with that it suddenly shoves you forwards onto the ground. Violent, powerful; pain searing through your nerves when you collide with the hardwood.

It takes you a moment to get your bearings, blood dripping now from the edge of your brow. When you finally have the strength to turn to glare at it, you see that every bit of its lust-filled facade has vanished completely into the air. Its eyes are now yellow as bile, narrowed with anger as it snarls right back at you.

Rage strengthens your voice, face burning with shame and disgust. "You never cared about me! You never wanted me! I cut my heart out, and I put it in your hands— and still you abandoned me each time I didn't do exactly what you wanted!"

The clown's irises glow red at your words, snarling as it advances slowly towards you.

"Staying away from you," it begins, taking a looming step and cocking its head, "You think that comes _easily_ for me?"

You roll over onto your ass, scooting backwards away from it as it continues upon you.

"Stupid little human. You cannot see that I stayed away for _us."_

"No!" You shake your head in disbelief, hateful tears beginning to spill over the edge. "You're just evil. You don't care about us. You don't care about me!"

"Tell me, child. Do you think I took those razors away merely because I needed your helping hands? Do you not think there were any others who could have aided me just as easily?"

"I don't believe you!"

"You are not like that fool Henry Bowers. You never were." Its voice grows soft, resigned, almost as if it feels it's been defeated. "I saw something in you. Something beautiful."

The wall slams into your shoulder-blades as you scoot back too fast against it. It stands impossibly high over you now, looking bigger than you've ever seen it before.

"That anger that lived inside of you... The parts of you that felt so achingly alone... The hunger to be so much more than you were."

You open your mouth, searching your mind for something else to spit back at it. "You— I didn't— I never—"

"You are more like me than you can ever possibly know."

"You're just— you're just saying these things. None of it's real. Nothing you've ever done is real."

"How must I prove it, child?"

It takes another step closer, and you watch its eyes fade back to blue. Open, glistening; they look just like Bill's whenever he cries. You crumple in on your self, hugging your knees to your chest so it doesn't step on you as it advances.

"Do you want me to kiss you?"

"You've never kissed me."

"Do you want me to make love to you?"

You don't answer.

"Do you want me to tell you how beautiful you are again? How much you make me wish you were not a human?"

You shake your head violently, tears spattering onto the hardwood. You search desperately for the rage that had just been inside of you, only to find that it has abandoned you. All you feel now is pain.

"Hear me, child. For what I speak is true."

It drops to its knees, crouches down in front of you.

"I cannot give you my offspring. I will not die when you die. I am the eater of worlds, and of children. I will always be evil. I will always be a monster."

It reaches a hand out to cup your face. You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the cool silk of its gloves as it brushes a strand of hair from your forehead.

"But do I love you, you stupid little brat. I will love you until you die. I will continue to love you long after the earth has swallowed your bones. You are the only thing that I have ever loved in this world besides myself."

Slowly you open your eyes. "You... You love me?"

It nods its head slowly.

"But to be with you, to truly be with you, they cannot be alive. They will try to kill me, just as they did so many years ago. They do not understand me, the things I must do to survive."

Something cold presses against your knee. You look down to see it, clenched tightly in its other hand as it offers it to you. You stare at it for a moment, and then you take it.

"I can make you live long, longer than any human before you. Hundreds and hundreds of years, together with me."

The knife is small, a silver handle like something from a movie. You watch it in the reflection of Pennywise's eyes as you study it. You'd have to be close to someone, really fucking close to be able to use this.

"Do this for me, and you will never have to be alone again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really excited to write this chapter, as dark as it may have been. I hope you guys enjoyed:)


	22. All of Them, but Especially Eddie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You set out to kill the person it wants you to kill. Problem is, you really don't want to obey it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curveball

You wonder how much blood will spurt from his neck when you run the blade across it. Will it be just like in the movies, a scarlet fountain that spurts onto your face and down the front of your body? Will it pour, thick and hot, like a gentle waterfall over the hairs that pepper his fair skin? Will he fall down in an instant, clutching at his throat and asking you why?

You wonder for how long he'll have to feel the agony, and the terror of what lies behind that cold wave of darkness. You wonder how long it'll take to purge the memory from your head, to forget what his eyes looked like as the light left them.

The door opens up slowly, cautiously; and you know that it's him before he even shows his face. He opens it all the way up upon seeing you, brows furrowing and then rising with sudden realization.

"Hey, what are you d— _Oh my God!_ What the hell happened to you?"

Your hand freezes where it is, wrapped around the handle of the knife in your back-pocket. Mouth hanging open and empty and stupid, you drop your gaze to his feet.

"Are you _okay?_ Do you need me to take you to the hospital? Or— or home? Bill said he hadn't seen you since— just— are you okay?"

"I... I uh..."

Home. The word steals your attention, veers you off your tracks and sends you slamming into a pit of vulnerability.

_Oh, God, home._

You wish you could tell him _yes_. You wish you could cry, "Yes, home! Please take me home! Get me out of this place! Help me go home!" The thought makes you quake, makes the pain mount behind your eyes. You'd give anything for him to be able to take you out of here and stop you from obeying it.

"On your shirt, is that... Is that vomit? And Jesus Christ— look at your hands. It looks like you tried to feel up a lawnmower."

He makes the saddest attempt at a fake smile that you've ever seen when you flick your eyes up to meet his own, but it's the worried lines in his forehead that betray him. You read his face like letters on a page, taking in the concern and the pain there. You can see so clearly that he doesn't like seeing you like this, doesn't like to see that you've been hurt.

Fuck. That hits you hard. You haven't even taken the knife out of your pocket but it suddenly feels like you've just plunged it into your chest.

"Alright. I guess you're not gonna tell me what's going on. That's fine. But please... Please, just— just come inside with me for a minute. Let's at least get you cleaned up."

"Myra." You whisper, taking a step back like a spooked animal.

"Oh, no, don't worry; she's not here. In Queens, visiting her mother. She won't be back for a few days... It's okay, I promise. Please... Just come inside. Just for a little while." His voice sounds higher as he takes a step back, opens the door to let you in.

It takes you a long moment, staring at him through the tears in your eyes. What the fuck are you doing? Why are you wasting so much time? Why aren't you doing what it sent you here to do?

You know that you should get it over with, reassured now by the fact that no one else is home to see you as you flee from the scene of the murder. Those bright orange lights inside of you beg you not to cross that threshold to follow him, to not make this any harder than it has to be.

But even still, you follow him anyway.

The air feels frigid as it rushes against your skin. Eddie's footsteps echo throughout the perfectly painted walls as he moves through the house. You pull your arms in close to yourself, feeling so small and out of place in such a beautiful home. Like a wilted little rose in a field full of white daisies; having nothing to offer anyone but venomous thorns and rot.

"There's a first-aid kit in the kitchen; I can clean up those cuts if you'd like... Do you want me to run you a bath?" He must catch the flash of unease on your face because he places a hand out in front of himself as he backs down a hallway. "No, no, nothing weird. I'm not gonna like, watch you or anyth— okay you know what, I'm just gonna go run you a bath. You look like you could use a bath."

He disappears into one of the rooms on the right side of the hallway, and soon after you can hear the rushing of water as it pours into the tub.

The sun has finally set behind the trees. The lights that line the ceiling in patters are dull and dim as you look around the walls and tabletops. It doesn't surprise you that there are so many pictures of his mother, and of Myra. It sends a shiver up your spine as you look at them closer, the way their appearances are so alike that you can hardly even distinguish the two.

You scan your eyes over more of the frames, finally finding a picture of Eddie as a boy. All elbows and knees and freckles, clutching his inhaler; it almost makes you smile. You take a few steps down the hallway to search the others that are strewn along the walls, finding more pictures of Little Eddie and his childhood friends. Immediately you recognize the other young boy beside him, and realize that the rest of the youths in the frame make up the members of The Losers Club. Standing close together underneath the dust-littered glass are Bill Denbrough, Beverly Marsh, Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon, Ben Hanscom, and a curly-haired boy that you don't recognize.

Barbed wire wraps around your heart and tightens, looking at each of their faces. It's just like looking at that picture of Bill's younger brother— the way it feels like they're looking right back at you. Especially Ben, especially Mike; their innocence and their toothy little grins. They never asked for any of this, never did anything to deserve it. And though you may deserve the things that happen to you, you know that you never truly asked for any of this.

Wait.

Did you?

There's a shrill squeak as Eddie turns off the faucet. His voice is high and fast as he speaks, "It might be too warm, so just test it with your hand before you get in. I put out a new bar of soap, and there's a fresh towel hanging up on the rack. I think that's uh... I think that's everything."

He turns to you, smiling with sad eyes as he wrings his hands together. You let your arms drop, moving in closer to pass him as he steps out of the bathroom. He takes you by surprise as he brings a hand to the space between your neck and shoulder. His fingertips are cool and damp against your skin, and at first you flinch away at who they remind you of. You push the thought away, choosing to feel Eddie— only Eddie— instead. So careful, so gentle, as if he fears you might break beneath his touch.

You open your mouth to try to speak again, barely able to see him through the tears in your eyes. You wish you could tell him how much you don't want to do this. You wish you could make him understand that you don't have a choice, that Pennywise will kill him no matter what you do and that you're far too much of a coward to die with him.

_If you loved me you wouldn't make me do this._

You call out again and again to the voice inside of your head, praying that it grants you this one small act of kindness. As always, it offers you nothing; not even a flicker of its brilliantly luminous lights. The thought of it abandoning you, especially at a moment like this, makes your blood run cold with anger and despair.

_Fine. You've waited this long, Pennywise. You can wait until after my bath._

You step back from Eddie, peeling your shirt off as you close the bathroom door behind you. The clown stays silent, even as you strip the rest of your clothes off, donning only the knife that's now clutched in your hand as you lower yourself into the water. You pull your knees to your chest, glancing over at the pile of denim and cloth beside you. Blood, tears, vomit. They're all smeared on the front of your clothes like a Jackson Pollack painting, still as fresh and pungent as when you put them there. You let out a shaky sigh, bowing your head and closing your eyes as you relax into the warmth.

"Hey." Eddie's words seep into the room, voice sounding low behind the door as if he's sitting with his back rested against it.

You raise your head like a dog with its ears pricked, squeezing your fingers tighter around the handle of the knife.

"If there's ever anything you need, or anything you ever need to talk about... I'll be here for you. Last time we talked... And then that night with Bill... I just... I know this stuff with Mike and Ben hasn't been easy on you. I know that you were close with them... But I just— I want you to be okay. I don't ever want you to feel like you're alone."

You bring the knife to your face and press the flat side of the blade against your forehead.

All of the pain that you've felt before this; all of the heartache and self-hatred and dread and physical agony and depression so deep it swallowed you up; all of the lies you've listened to and spun into webs to wrap yourself up in like a blanket; all of the blood you've shed and all your fucked up shit that you've done to feel something— to feel anything; none of it— not one single bit of it has ever felt worse than the way you feel right now.

Your chest aches from trying to stifle your tears as you croak out, "But I _am_ alone."

"That's not true... Not one bit. You have me, you have Bill... You have all of us. We all care about you, and what happens to you. You're our friend... And we need you. You're one of us."

"No!" The water sloshes as you lurch your body forwards, enunciating your words with sudden venom and anger. "No, you should hate me! You should be afraid of me! You should wish you'd never even fucking met me!"

"We could never hate you. We _love_ you... All of us... You know, I..." Eddie pauses for a moment, and when he speaks again his voice is much softer. " _I_ love you."

His words don't even phase you as you shake your head slowly. "You can't. You couldn't. Not if you knew the things that I've done."

"We've all done things that we wish we hadn't. Whatever you've done— or whatever you _think_ that you've done to make you hate yourself... It just..." He fumbles for the words, and you can hear the clicking sounds of his mouth as he worries his lips between his teeth. When he starts again his voice is so clear it sounds as if he's opened the door. "You're a good person. I know you are."

The memory comes to you in a flash of red light, hitting you so suddenly that you nearly drop the knife into the bathwater. Those were the same words Ben had whispered to you that night you'd tried to burn him, limbs bound together as he lied pleading on the ground.

Oh, you fucking fool.

You were willing to kill for it, not because you thought it would kill you if you didn't— not because you thought you had no choice, but because you loved it that fucking much. Everything that you did, you did for _it_ ; and you clung to the hope that it loved you like you would drown if it didn't.

 _One day it will stop hurting me,_ you had thought to yourself each time it wounded you.

You prayed again and again for it to make good on the things that it had promised you; and in doing that you chose a monster over the people who showed any real shred of affection towards you every time. You made the wrong choice again and again by doing the terrible things that it asked of you. You know that now.

Everything that it said to you last night in your empty house was a fucking lie. You knew that it didn't truly love you; you've known that since the moment it wore your mother's face in its lair. Everything it's ever done to you has been part of a scheme, a grand plan to kill the children who'd threatened it so many years ago. It saw that you were all alone. It took your damaged brain, your broken heart, and it played with them like a child's blood between its fingers.

You study the carvings of the handle, so ancient and deadly. Pennywise chose this weapon for a reason. It knew you'd have to get close to be able to use it, knew that you could only ever use it on Eddie. It didn't just want him dead, it wanted this to hurt you. It wanted to see how much it could hurt you.

The knife clatters against the tiles as you drop it beside the claw-feet of the bathtub. You can't kill Eddie— you can't kill any of them. They too saw you that you were alone, and they did everything they could to take that aloneness away. They have never hurt you. They have never used you. Not like the clown. Never like the clown.

You know that if you spare them it'll come for you too. You know that it'll do its best to break you, to kill you just as painfully as it wants to kill them. If there was ever a choice that allowed you to leave this town alive, this certainly isn't the one to make.

But going back to Pennywise? Being forced to slaughter another one of the people who've never done you any harm? Being forced to love something that will never love you back? Well that, you little fool, is a fate far worse than any kind of death that creature could ever deal out.

 _And I do deserve it though,_ you think to yourself as you climb out of the water and drip unapologetically onto the floor. This will be your penance, for what you did to Ben and to Mike. You will pay for their flesh with your own, and you will fight with your last breath to help save the rest who are still alive.

All of them, but especially Eddie. Sweet, delicate, passionate Eddie. He is so beautiful, in the way that a caged robin is beautiful; filled with nobility and the bittersweet sadness of knowing he has never truly been free. You know that feeling all too well, and you wish you could rip off the hinges and fly away with him. Higher and higher into the air, away from this town and the thing that feeds upon it.

Eddie's still talking as you turn the knob of the door, though you haven't been able to listen to any of his words.

"And you know I wish things... Sometimes I wish things were different. Sometimes I think about what my life could be like if I'd never met Myra... If I'd somehow been able to meet you instead." He stands suddenly as he hears you coming out behind him, turns around to speak to your face. "It's wrong of me, and I know it's not fair to you, but I want you to know that I do love—"

The words leave him as he registers the sight of your nakedness in front of him, lips parted and frozen. His face flushes the color of strawberry wine as he searches your eyes, confusion and desperation in his own. You take a step in closer and he lets his gaze drop, taking in every inch of your skin as he travels down. The want that radiates from him is so strong you can almost see it. It awakens something within your belly, frightening and unfamiliar.

Earlier when you'd called to the voice inside of you it'd been silent. Now, the voice screams.

You think about how it'd feel to lead him into the bedroom, kiss him sweetly and let him run his hands over every valley and curve of your body. You wonder how it'd feel to make love to someone you aren't afraid of, who's never hurt you, who's never made you feel as if you weren't enough. You wonder what his lips would feel like against your breasts, how eagerly and humanly he'd try to please you. You wonder if he'll scrape his teeth against you as his fingers clutch against everything they can find. You wonder what his come will feel like when it splashes on your belly, pearled and white instead of cancerous and black.

Those orange lights at the back of your mind screech as it begs you not to touch him, pleads with you not to touch that filthy little girly boy. It snarls at you, tells you that it can smell your cunt from deep within its lair and that if you do not kill him it'll rip your eyes out and fuck the holes they leave behind. It tells you to listen, tells you that it owns you and that it could show itself and snap your neck right now if it wanted to.

But even so, you still fuck him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But yeah Penn boutta throw some shit DOWN soon. YIKES. But I mean... It/he is obviously pure evil so thankfully "you" aren't letting it control you anymore. I can't believe I only have a few more chapters left, I've been working on this baby for months lol. Anyways thanks a lot for reading! :) It really means a lot!


	23. See You Again Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Eddie spend some time together the morning after, and discuss your future together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS A DARK ASS CHAPTER! PLEASE READ THE TAGS!!!! I added a new one, because I didn't know that I'd missed it. Very disturbing non-con themes and words. Please be prepared <3

"I can't leave. Not now. Not right away. But I will. I want to be with you, only you."

"Eddie," you begin, words sounding dangerously close to a warning, "You don't really mean—"

"I do... And I don't expect you to wait for me. You can leave this place whenever you want, and I'll follow you as soon as I can... It doesn't matter where. Wherever you go, I will follow you."

The way he looks at you makes your heart cry out with joy and with pain, the two mingling together and intertwining until you can no longer separate them. He looks at you, the way that Bill looks at Beverly— eyes bright and full of stars. He looks as you, the way that monster never even pretended to.

"Promise me." There's a twinge of sadness in your voice, the words soft and bitter like ashes on your tongue.

"I promise."

He looks so young, so angelic; the morning light beaming through the curtains. So peaceful and vibrant and unaware of your unforgivable sins. No matter what happens in the future, and what deaths and horrors may await, this is the place you'll return to in your head. This is the Eddie that loved you. This is the way you want to remember him.

When you reach out to brush the edge of his cheek with your fingertips he catches your hand, turns to cup them both into his own like he's holding a small bird.

"Can I bandage them now?" He asks, wincing as though he too can feel the pain of your wounds.

You nod, and he rushes downstairs to fetch the first-aid kid and a pair of scissors from the kitchen. When he returns he guides you to sit on the edge at the foot of the bed, kneels down in front of you. He inspects the black-red scabs over your knuckles, and you try your best not to suck air between your teeth when he makes you straighten your fingers. Gently, carefully, he dabs petroleum over each of the cuts; wraps them up with gauze and uses the scissors to cut the ends. When he's finished he holds your hands once more, kisses the skin that hasn't been covered.

You can't help but smile, feeling warmed from the inside out at how eager he is to take care of you. It's all you've ever wanted. Someone to love you, someone to want you, someone to make sure you feel safe. How blind you were to not see that it has always been Eddie.

He drops your wrists and you wrap them around his head, pulling him up to kiss you. He tastes like mint, like his toothpaste; like a human, and you revel in every broad stroke of his tongue.

"I love you." You whisper, as though you're testing to see if he'll say it back to you.

He does. It rolls off his tongue without hesitation, like music to your ears.

"But there's— There's something I need to tell you. Something I need to... Just something I need to say, before it's too late."

Eddie runs his thumb over the edge of your jaw, smiles sleepily. "You can tell me anything."

"The clown. The one that killed Georgie." Your words are hoarse, mouth suddenly feeling cotton-dry.

Eddie visibly stiffens, then sits upright on the bed. "Jesus, that fucking clown. Did it come after you? Is that what happened to you yesterday? And all those months ago— is that— is that why you put up those posters?"

You hesitate for a moment, catching your lip between your teeth before asking, "You defeated it before? You and the others? When you were just kids?"

"Yes, we— well the memories are hazy, almost like it tried to erase them. But I know that we did, together... But we weren't able to kill it, not really. We just put it back to rest. Every twenty-seven or so years— that's when it wakes up again."

"Do you think that you could? All of us, together?"

"Could what?"

"Kill it."

"I don't— we've never—"

"But you must have talked about it... Or even just thought about it... Especially after Mike and Ben."

Eddie doesn't answer, face suddenly paper-white. It looks as if he thinks that speaking about it will draw it out, make it appear. Whatever Pennywise did to them, the scars are still enough to make him squirm.

You can see the edges of his mouth twitching, but you press on anyway. "Has it come to you, or shown itself to you at all since you moved back to Derry?"

"No, I— To Bill. Just Bill."

"What did it do to him?"

"He won't say. Just that he's seen it. Just that he knows it's back again."

You let out a sigh, sitting up beside Eddie to look him in the eyes. "There's a lot that I have to tell you, but I don't want to tell you just yet." You run your fingers back through your hair, feeling dampness from your own nervous sweating. "But I can tell you that I know it wants to kill us. I can tell you that we have to tell the others— that we all have to try and kill it first."

Eddie's jaw clenches. He makes a loud gulping sound as he swallows, then tries futilely to wet the cracks at the edge of his lips. "How do you know this?"

"I just... I can't tell you. But trust me. We're all in danger. It wants us dead. If we don't do something, we don't even stand a chance."

"Mike, he — Mike warned us— Said we..." He shakes his head, too upset to continue. He looks back up into your eyes. "I believe you. I mean— I mean I trust you."

You inch in closer to him, as though you too are suddenly afraid that it can hear you unless you do so. "So what should we do? How should we tell the others?"

Eddie rubs the side of his face, scratching at the stubble at the edge of his jaw."I'll call Bill. I'll tell him to call everyone— tell him to meet us at the restaurant so that we can talk about it in person."

"Okay." You nod your head hurriedly, filled with a sudden rush of energy. "I guess I should.. uh.. I'll just go get dressed."

You hurry into the bathroom and splash two handfuls of cold water onto your face to wake yourself up. Afterwards you move over to the bundle of clothes beside the tub, looking to see where you'd dropped the knife.

_Oh God. Where the fuck is it?_

Before you can even bend down to check if it's rolled beneath the bowl of the tub you suddenly feel a pair of arms wrapped around your belly. You turn around to your newfound lover, ready to warn him that the two of you surely don't have time for this. He crashes his lips against your own anyway, forcing his hot tongue between your teeth.

Though the sound is stifled you squeal sharply in surprise as he presses you back against the sink so hard it knocks the breath from your chest. That's when the taste of shit and vomit and sewage fills your mouth, his tongue sliding impossibly deeper into your throat as you struggle to break free.

 _It's not him,_ you think as your lungs begin to burn. _It's not Eddie._

You flatten your palms against its chest, pushing with all the strength you have in your mutilated arms. At last you're able to fight it off of you, and you stare right into a face that looks just like Eddie's— if Eddie had been dead in a bog for weeks. His eyes are vacant and rimmed with blood, skin festering with sores and maggots and pus. One more hard shove against it, and it disappears before it even hits the wall.

There's no time to think about it. There's not even a spare second for you to try and comprehend what's just happened in front of you when from the bedroom you hear a gasp. Slowly, reluctantly, you open the door and step into the nightmare that surely awaits you.

You can smell it even before you see it; the stench of Eddie's fear mingling so perfectly with the sickly sweet odors it uses to lure in all of its young victims. It holds him in its lap, sitting behind him with its knees spread wide. There's a knife in one of its hands— the same one it had given you— pressed firmly above his Adam's apple.

" _Run_." Eddie mouths, eyes pleading.

You shake your head slowly in refusal, clenching your fists to keep from breaking down at the way it makes your heart break. Instead you harden yourself up, turning your attention to glare at his otherworldly captor instead.

"Took you long enough to get here." You jeer at it, trying hard to mask the tremors running through your bones. "Almost thought you weren't gonna make it."

Pennywise cocks its head to the side. A toothy grin graces its cheeks, wide and unnaturally curved. Its mouth is so full of those awful, mangled fangs that it can't even close its jaws. Drool spills out furiously enough to dampen the entire front of Eddie's clothes.

"Oh, child."

Hell-fire replaces the irises that wrap around its slitted pupils. Never in this clown-like form has it looked so terrifying, so content is its viciousness and monstrousness. It's a perfect contrast to the vulnerability that makes Eddie seem so utterly human, head wrenched back only by the hold of Pennywise's powers.

Upon sheer reflex and instinct you take another step into the room, wanting to do anything to make that look on Eddie's face go away, wanting to do anything to just fucking help him. It's useless though. The clown stops you in your tracks before you can even get near him. You feel your legs held in their place, muscles frozen and weighed down by an invisible force.

"I bet you think that this has wounded me." Pennywise's expression fades to indifference, boredom. It strengthens its grip with ease, satisfaction twinkling in its eyes when Eddie grimaces in pain. Your stomach churns when you see a scarlet bead beginning to drip down the front of his throat. "How pathetic."

"Let him go. Do whatever you want to me— but please. Not him. Let him go."

"And spoil my fun?" It pulls its lips in a mocked-pout, leaning up to press the side of its face against Eddie's. "You must take me for a fool."

You watch in helpless frustration as the entity flicks out its long, awful tongue and sweeps up the thin trail of blood on Eddie's neck as it trickles down. Its nostrils flair out at once, obvious that it's merely whetting its vile appetite for more of him.

 _Oh God._ You think to yourself as the world begins to slow around you. _It's going to eat him, and it's going to make you watch._

Eddie grits his teeth together, the muscles in his neck straining as Pennywise forces his head back even further. His hands clutch uselessly at the fabric of the clowns suit, knuckles void of all pigment.

"What's the matter, Eds?" Pennywise sneers. "Don't you wanna play with me?"

"Let go of him!"

"Oh, don't you worry, Little One! No, no, no! Don't you worry your filthy little head!" Its bright tufts of hair bounce as it enunciates its words, delighted in the power it has over the both of you. "I'm not gonna hurt Eddie!" Its voice lowers, distorts into something that sounds like children screaming behind it. "Not yet."

And with that you feel a great pressure, as though the force of gravity has been amplified a thousand times over. Your legs buckle as and though you try your hardest to fight it, Pennywise's dark energy sends you to your knees without even lifting a finger.

"Fuck!" You let out a gasp at the impact against the floor, the pain ricocheting through your entire frame.

Pennywise releases his grip on Eddie with a cackle, blood slinging from the knife as he pulls carelessly away from him. Eddie shoots his hands up to his throat in fear, a small slit now carved into his skin. It's not enough to kill him, not enough to bleed him out like a slaughtered pig; but the sight strikes a pang of dread into your chest anyway.

"Much better." The clown spits at you, rising up to stand beside the bed. "I have always preferred you down on your knees."

It takes all the strength you have to lift your chin to look it defiantly in the eyes.

Your voice shakes, low, as though you're afraid of Eddie being able to hear you when you tell it, "If you're going to kill me— just fucking kill me."

"Oh don't be so impatient, Little One." It answers matter-of-factly. "Of course I'm going to kill you."

There was no doubt in you that it would. Your words were a call-to-action, not a test to see if you could call its bluff. You spat in its face, came again and again around another man's cock as it watched you; waiting, seething, hating. It may not have cared for you, but it certainly had decided you belonged to it. You were its favorite toy, bright and shiny and easy to use. Something that's been alone as long as Pennywise could never possibly know how to share.

The floor creaks gently as it takes a step towards you. You bow your head and close your eyes, ready to accept whatever fate it's decided for you.

"You, and all of your pathetic little friends too. Billy-Boy, Richie, Bevy, Wheezy, and even the burned up Eggboy. Slowly, _sweetly_. But don't worry," It gives you a wink, bends forward so it knows that you can hear it. "I'll save _you_ for last. Wouldn't want you to miss the show."

Now your eyes widen, the first wave of horror rolling over your body at its words. It feels like you're being pulled deep into the earth, body filling up with lead and digging your nails into your palms to keep you from blacking out.

"No, you— you can't— no!" It's the only thing you can say, shaking your head frantically as tears fill your eyes.

"I can. I will. I must. All of you... But e _specially_ you." It comes to stand just in front of you as it continues, an enormous grey and red tower. "I can hardly even _wait_ until I get to you. I am going to savor _every last bite_ of your flesh, no matter how sour the taste."

Your head hardly comes up to the center of its thighs. You have to strain your neck just to look up at it. "Then wh-what are you going to— to do to me now?"

"Remind me, Little One. What was the _word_ you used that night in your room?"

"I don't— _What?_ " You raise your brows, screwing up your face in confusion. Your chest is heaving, though you've been trying your hardest not to give it the satisfaction of smelling your fear.

"You asked me if I was going to do something to you. Do you remember what it was? You should! If you care, if you dare!" It takes your silence for its answer, eyes lighting up as it continues on with wicked splendor. "I was so very nice, I even repeated it _twice."_

It shoves you onto your back with invisible arms, allowing you just enough freedom to be able sit up on your elbows and watch as it moves in closer. You jerk and twist your body as hard as you can, knowing that no matter how hard you try you'll never be able to break out of its hold. You've never felt so helpless, nothing more than a worm writhing desperately beneath a boot.

"Allow me to give you a hint, you pathetic little brat."

"Stop!" You can feel your cheeks lighting up in shame. "I fucking— Jesus, I... I get it."

"Oh no! No, no, no! I don't think that you do!" It pauses before holding out its hand in front of you. "See this pretty little gift? It didn't quite make its way inside of Eddie, but I think it should look much better thrusted deep inside of _you_."

Raw terror engulfs you like the flames around Ben's car. Your arms rush into motion, trying more desperately than ever to pull yourself back and away without succeeding even by a hair.

It takes another step towards you, drops its hand that clutches the knife down to its side, held outward in a horrifying display of prowess.

"Tell me, Little One, which would you rather I take you with first? My cock? Or the _knife?"_

Bile stings your throat as it rises up in your chest.

"Oh, God." You cry, eyes dangerously close to rolling back in your head.

"How many times must I remind you, Little Thing? My name is Pennywi—"

You let out a scream as one of the clown's wicked eyes suddenly bulges out from its head. Strange, dark liquid begins spilling from its face; floating up into the air in the same manner as its seed. Pennywise's lip quivers, and you see something in its face that you've never seen there before.

You see _fear_.

Filled with rage it rears its awful head back, twists its whole upper-body as though it's spine were made of rubber. That's when you see it— the two metal loops sticking out of the back of its hair, recognizing at once the scissors Eddie had used to cut your bandages.

You can feel the hold on your body being lifted, its concentration broken by the weapon thrusted deep into its skull. Quickly, you push yourself back and leap to your feet before flattening yourself against the wall behind you.

Pennywise lets out a roar, so loud you swear you can feel the house quake. Its alien fingers burst through the fabric of its gloves, mangled brid-talons sliding out from its skin. Its body lengthens, stretches; the seams at the back of its suit ripping apart as it becomes larger and more frightening than you've ever seen it before. You can see the will in Eddie's eyes, fighting his damnedest to look brave in the wake of it. Even as more arms begin sprouting from its sides. Even as the clown's mouth contorts into the horrifying fangs of a tarantula.

"No!" You scream, as the beast takes a deadly swipe at Eddie's body.

The man jumps back in response, knocking down the picture frames from the wall. The creature just barely misses, ripping nothing but wide gashes into the belly of Eddie's shirt. It strikes out again as he ducks away, burying its claws into the drywall beside the bed with a hideous roar.

Eddie, now bent down against the floor, crawls towards you as quickly as he can. You let out a scream as he takes you into his arms; the both of you shaking and cowering together like two small children.

The horrible thing rips its hand free in one swift motion. It turns back to you, staring dead into your eyes with a hate burning so brightly in them that you can feel the heat on your skin.

"I once told you that I saw something in you," It begins, yellow spit dripping from each of its pincer-like fangs. "I was wrong. There is nothing inside of you but flesh, and blood, and fear. Tasty, tasty, beautiful _fear_."

Pennywise lets out another booming roar, and takes another looming step towards the both of you. You let out a whimper as your bladder empties, warm liquid running down the insides of your thighs. Eddie's fingers dig into your arms and back, clutching at you in desperation and terror of what's to come.

That's when it does the most shocking thing that it's done before all morning. It turns back into a clown, straightens its suit and looks at you with all hints of evil and anger distinguished from its face.

"But I meant what I said to you. I will not kill you first. Not even when you _beg_ me for it. I am going to kill everyone you have ever cared about in this world, and I am going to make sure that you _watch_." It smiles sweetly, so disturbingly calm. "And then, after I have had my fun, I will pull the heart from your chest and eat it." It gives you one last wink, eyes blue as they've ever been. "See you again soon, kiddo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!! You guys are the best and make me so excited to continue writing:) Just thank you again and again and again


	24. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You warn The Losers that Pennywise is about to try and kill them, despite lying about the exact nature of your previous relationship with It.

Beverly’s fist connects so brutally with the edge of your cheek that you see white, like roaring water behind your eyes. The second punch is even harder, knuckles slamming against the bridge of your nose with a sickening ‘crack.’ Agony courses through you as blood drips down through your nostrils, littering the front of your shirt with a bright shade of scarlet. You know that it’s broken even before you can reach up to feel it with your fingers.

“It’s been here the whole time! And she’s been _feeding us to it!”_

Eddie grabs you by the pits of the arms before you can even think to retaliate. He yanks you back to safety at the other edge of the room. You kick and thrash in his arms, fury lighting up your brain as you bare your teeth at her.

“I’m just trying to _help_ you! I’m trying to help _all_ of you!” It takes everything inside of you not to add ‘you stupid fucking bitch,’ still reeling from the strikes to the face despite secretly deserving them.

Bill tries as gently as he can to keep Beverly’s arms pinned down, holding her back from you. Beverly writhes in his grasp as well, like a rabid animal fighting in a vice.

“Let go of me!” She demands, voice teetering on the edge of a scream.

“Beverly, p-p-please just c-calm d-d-down.”

“Calm down? Why don’t you tell that to Stanley! And Mike!” Tears begin to cloud her eyes, words cracking as she continues. “You can’t, Bill! They’re gone! They’re both dead because of her!”

“Sh-she never k-k-killed anyone. It was the c-creature. It was the c-cl-clown.”

Beverly scoffs at Bill’s words. Though her movements are less violent she’s still jerking to get herself free from his grasp.

You spit out a mouth full of red onto the floor before glaring back up at her.

“I told you. I-I didn’t know what it was. If I did… I never… I never would have…” You pause, as Eddie loosens his hold and tilts your head back to try and hold back the bleeding. “And its lights- those fucking _lights.”_

Eddie then clamps a hand over your own to help you to apply pressure, looking for any way to soothe your pain before finally handing you some tissues at the edge of Bill’s desk. He hushes you, having heard your fucked-up excuse for an explanation on the way here and taking it without any hesitation. You could have told him any lie and he would have still believed you. He still sees you through those rose-tinted glasses, so perfect and new and with reason. He doesn’t know that their blood is on your hands, as clearly as the blood that drips down the curve of your chin.

Beverly breaks from Bill’s grip at last, but she doesn’t rage towards you the way you expect her to. Instead she closes her eyes, leaning forward to weep with her manicured hands rested on her knees. Bill puts a hand out to rub at her back and she recoils, turning her face away from him.

“Way to go, Eds.” Richie shakes his head slowly, having been watching the events unfold from the doorway in complete indifference. He sees right through you as well, smells the danger on you like the stale piss that coats the inside of your thighs. “You’ve been having an affair with Henry Bowers.”

“She is nothing like Henry Bowers! And don’t you fucking call me ‘Eds’ again!”

“Yeah?” Richie raises his brows. “What are you gonna do about it? Sic your little serial-killer girlfriend on me?”

Eddie’s face reddens as he lets go of you, hands balling up into white-knuckled fists. He takes a step towards Richie, jaw clenched and filled with rage. “You better fucking-”

“Everyone please just stop!” Bill demands, suddenly free from all traces of his stutter. “This is what it wants. It’s trying to divide us.” He throws his hands out beside himself, as though trying to grab a pair of metaphorical reigns to demand control of the group once again.

“Oh what the hell do you know, Bill? Lot of good listening to you has done us! ‘Let’s be her friend, she seems so lonely and sad,' wah wah wah.’” Richie mocks, screwing his face up in contempt.

You shoot him a glare, a part of you immediately wishing Eddie hadn’t hesitated. Richie was the next one on your list, and if it weren’t for the charade of having nothing to do with the murders themselves you would make sure he knows how close you came to slitting his throat. You may not want to be a murderer anymore, but no one ever said you weren’t still petty.

“It st-still would have c-come after us if it wasn’t for her. She didn’t lead us to it. It was an accident. It was g-going to happen… It was going to happen no m-matter w-what.”

“But we could have been ready for it.” Richie insists. “If she wasn’t helping it, we could have- we could have been prepared... And did she seem brainwashed to any of you? No! She seems the exact same as she was! I think some weird shit’s going on here. Friends with that fucking clown, my dick!”

“She wasn’t helping! She stood up to it- I- I fucking saw her, okay? It tried to fucking rape her! With a fucking _knife!”_

It’s Beverly who answers, looking drained. “You’re blind and you know it, Eddie. You’re too close to see that something is wrong with her.”

“No.” Bill states firmly. “I w-was there when she s-saw Georgie. She d-d-didn’t know what it was; what it had d-done to us.”

Eddie nods in agreement. “She’s not a bad person… She’s not- she’s not a villain, _okay?_ She’s here to help, and from the looks of it now, we need all the help we can fucking get.”

Richie’s eyes go to Bill, as though to ask if he’s certain. He nods his head to assure him, and you watch as his shoulders drop with a deep breath. Eons pass before anyone says anything else again. They all look so tired, washed out and hopeless. Eddie hasn’t looked at you since he let go of you, turning to chew at his nails as he leans against a wall.

Richie drops his eyes, looking defeated at last. “Well, then… What the fuck should we do?”

“Ben.” You croak out. “We’ve gotta go… We’ve gotta go to Ben.”

Beverly whirls around to Bill, fear and desperation plastered across her face. “What if it’s a trap?”

“It’s not.” He answers, heartfelt. “I can f-feel it.”

She takes her lip between her teeth. She glances back at Richie who slants his mouth and straightens his thick-framed glasses, then lets out a shaky breath. When she looks back at you all the anger from before has left her eyes, leaving only pale blue desperation.

“You promise we can trust you?” She asks, voice low and filled with pain.

You nod hurriedly. “Yes. I promise… I-I want to help.”

All of you look to Bill this time, who stands up a little straighter. He looks to the others and asserts that the hospital is indeed the best place to go, for everyone needs to be together right now with it after them. They stare back at him so openly, hanging on every word and it’s so fucking clear that he holds the spot as their unspoken leader.

“This is suicide.” Richie mutters, before climbing into the back of Bill’s vehicle. “Taking on the clown with only four of us- and her- it’s literally fucking suicide.”

“Well then,” Bill begins before closing the door, “Let’s f-fucking die.”

You and Eddie ride alone together instead, practically wordless on the way there. You can see the tremor in his hands when he presses his inhaler to his lips. He’s afraid for himself, for the others, and for you. You can feel the terror radiating so fiercely off of him that for a stupid moment you wonder if this is what Pennywise senses from each of his victims before pushing the thought far from your mind.

“Do you really love me?” Your voice is hardly above a whisper, so low you can hardly hear it over the sounds of the air-conditioning. “It’s okay if you don’t... It’s okay if you don’t trust me now.”

He pauses. “I still love you. You didn’t do anything. It was using you. You didn’t know.”

Lying to him hurts; it truly does. It feels like a bullet, hot and brutal in the walls of your chest; but you know it’s better than losing him. Even if this is just temporary, even if you don’t make it out of here; you don’t want him to ever know the things you did to the people he loves for the thing that you thought loved you. Tears fill up your eyes, making your throat ache with sorrow and regret.

“You won’t be with me after all of this is over.”

Eddie whips his head over to you, brows furrowed with concern. “Don’t even say that. I told you that I wanted to be with you; that no matter where you went I would follow you. I meant it then and I mean it now. I don’t care how any of the others feel. I trust you.”

He reaches out with with his hand and clamps it softly on your knee. You lay your head back against the seat and close your eyes, dreading the fatal storm that surely awaits.

After what feels like only a few moments, you reach the crowded parking lot of the hospital. Bill, Beverly, and Richie follow suit, pulling into a spot directly beside Eddie’s car. No one speaks as you rush inside,. That awful smell hits your nose, the stench of death and antiseptic even more volatile than the blood that clings to your face. You all do your best to hurry, ignoring the protests of the registration clerk as you all make your way down the vast hallway.

“Does anyone remember where the hell his room is? This place is like a fucking labyrinth.” Richie comments, looking around widely.

Eddie nods, having just visited a few days ago when he went with you to see Ben one last time before trying to finish him. He picks up the pace, leading the rest of you to follow closely behind.

You’re almost there, the room numbers becoming familiar as you make a sharp turn. It’s right then that a swarm of nurses rush by, whipping your hair to the side as they go past. Their shoes squeak urgently against the bleach-white tiles and as the group moves closer towards Ben’s room you can hear the frantic beeping of machines. They’re so fucking loud, like sirens blaring in your ears as a wave of dread rushes over your body.

 _He’s dead,_ you think to yourself as you pump your legs faster. _You’ve failed, and now Ben is dead too._

It’s Bill who breaks into a near-sprint, nearly sliding passed the doorway before stopping and freezing with his mouth hanging open. At last you reach the glass window along with the others. Heart in your throat, you stare into the room only to see Ben’s bed as empty as a freshly dug grave.

Gasps and murmurs fill the hallways, the staff all staring in confusion at the ripped-out tubes laid discarded across the sheets.

“He-He was just here.” A nurse whispers, hand over her chest.

You whip around to look at the others, their faces paper-white and leery. Beverly’s eyes are sunken back into her head. Eddie drops to his knees, looks as though he’s about to break down and cry right there in front of everyone.

“It took him.” Beverly whispers, auburn hair bouncing from how heavy she’s panting. “It fucking took him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the home stretch now, bitches! Thanks so much for reading :) Your comments and kudos mean a lot to me, it feels great to know people are actually reading and invested. Much love, and if you wanna check out any of my other Penny x Reader stuff I've written a couple more pieces :) Thanks again, and holy shit I just saw the finished casting list for IT part 2 and I'm so fucking hype?? Like it may not be exact but holy shit that's so exciting I can't even wait!


	25. Eat Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is twice the pleasure to deceive the deceiver."
> 
> -Jean De La Fontaine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I say this every time but thank y'all so much for reading :')

The rain taps against the roof like the pecking of hundreds of little birds. You pull your hood back off of your head and run your fingers through your hair before walking further inside, the soles of your shoes scraping gently against the hardwood. It smells different than you remember, older, and you reason that you only notice it now because you were never away long enough before.  
  
“The Neibolt House.” Eddie had dropped your hand and backed away the moment he found out where you live. “The Neibolt House,” he’d repeated in horror. “You live in— you live in the _fucking Neibolt House.”_ _  
_  
Richie’s hand had flown to the space above his brow and he’d had to turn away to hide how hard his lip was trembling. Bill had gone paper-white and speechless, mouth agape and looking more wounded than you had ever seen him before. Beverly had wept, mascara trailing from her waterlines, as though the street you had lived on suddenly confirmed every suspicion the bitch had ever had about you.  
  
The Well-House, the place above the sewers, the portal to its death-addled home. When they hastily explained the history of that shithole it became clear why it had come to you that first night, so obvious why you had almost been one of its victims. You had been right there for the taking, crawling and writhing above the lair of the spider. A lost little thing, so scared and alone and easy to wrap its gloves around.  
  
But isn’t that what you wanted all along?  
  
Didn’t you want someone— _something_ — to take you and soothe all of those festering wounds inside of your heart? Didn’t you say you would do anything for it? Didn’t you even fucking try to _kill for it,_ just to have the chance to feel as if you finally belonged?  
  
If so, then you got exactly what you asked for. The clown and the humans both gave you the thing you wanted the most in this world. They answered your prayers in curses and blessings and in your bright orange confusion you were never able to see any of them for what they truly are and you still can’t, not really. The path to your salvation is paved with red balloons and broken arms and eyes so blue you can see the fucking clouds. The answer to where your loyalty now lies is not a straight line, despite how simple as the question may be.  
  
Because who the hell do you belong with more?  
  
A monster?  
  
Or the people who see you as one?  
  
“Pennywise!” Your voice cracks as you call out its name, your throat too raw from the exhaustion to remain steady.  
  
As you whirl around on the toes of your shoes you can feel its presence, eyes following you as you call out to it. Your cries echo through the walls of your house, sound bouncing back from the yellowed windows and ceiling.  
  
“Pennywise! Pennywise, please, I can’t— I can’t fucking do this anymore!”  
  
Turning another sharp corner and leaving what was once your bedroom you continue to search for it, sweat beading at the back of your neck. Your shoes squeak as you move through the halls and you think about how frightening you must look, covered in dirt and rain and wounds and blood.  
  
“I know you don’t love me.” You continue, voice low and soaked in pain. “I know that none of this was real… But I don’t... I don’t _care."_    
  
There’s a leak in the kitchen ceiling, cool water dripping down on the back of your neck. It startles you at first, and you think it’s the clown. You throw a hand over your chest in a mixture of relief and disappointment as you spin back around to continue searching and pleading.  
  
“I never meant it, what I did or said to any of them. They don’t— they don’t fucking matter to me. I don’t love them. I don’t love Eddie. I just… I was just so fucking angry. You know that— You know that everything I did, I did because I wanted you. I wanted you to feel something for me, even just a fraction of the things I felt for you. Anger, jealousy, spite; I didn’t care what it was, as long as it meant you felt something.” Pausing as you fall to the floor to rest, it suddenly feels as though lead is filling up your lungs. You pant as the tears begin to roll down your cheeks, afraid of how heartbroken you feel in this moment. “You were the only thing in this world that has ever made me feel strong. I just want you… Only you… Always you.”  
  
And then you almost miss it, the sight of it standing with its back leaned against the wall at the opposite side of the room. At once the awful stench of the sewers fills the air, and the sudden sight of it so close to you makes your heart rise up between your collarbones.  
  
“I’m sorry!” You cry out as you crawl frantically towards it. “Please, Pennywise I’m so… I’m—I’m so fucking sorry.”  
  
It picks its teeth with its tongue, not even caring to look at you at first. When it finally does bother to turn its head toward you it does so with leisure, eyes flicked downward, face void of all emotion. Its eyes are a gleaming shade of yellow, a color it saves for suspicion and hunger. Its nostrils twitch as it sniffs at the air, as though it’s trying to catch any tell-tale traces of fear that may cling to your body.  
  
You adjust yourself to rest with your shins folded beneath your thighs as you stare up at it, reaching carefully to clutch at the fabric behind its knees. You must look like nothing more than a begging child to it, eyes filled with longing. It cocks its head and looks at you in a way you’ve never seen it do before, and soon its graveyard silence makes your skin prickle.  
  
Its suit begins to feel hot to the touch, sirens going off in the back of your mind. You remember vividly that it had promised not to kill you before it had killed any of the others, but as you wait there looking up at it you realize it could inflict a world of pain before it leaves to hunt them all down. It could rape you with its claws, gouge your eyes out with its gloved thumbs, leave you to scream with a mouth full of blood until the others were finally dead. It could do whatever it wanted to you now, and you’d be as useless as a fly in trying to stop it.  
  
At last your former-lover moves, bares its teeth into a snarl. Your heart jumps, lurches, skips a beat before it reaches out to gently stroke the back of your hair. Those long fingers pause after just a few moments, before brushing down past the shell of your ear to cup at the bottom of your chin.  
  
“Oh child.” It croons, lips pulled into a frown. “My sweet, beautiful, broken little child.”  
  
It isn’t sadness in it’s voice. It’s pity. It urges you to rise to your feet, to look into its face as it shakes its head slowly.  
  
“I do not blame you, Little One. You are merely a human after all. It is only in your nature to be so _weak.”_  
  
“I’m... I'm just so s-sorry.”  
  
“I know you are, Little Thing.” It assures, eyes fading to that gorgeous shade of blue. “Pennywise knows _all.”_  
  
You rush forwards without warning, wrapping its torso into a tight embrace. The sobs that spill forth from your lips are deafening, even as they’re muffled by the stinking cloth surrounding its body. It holds you as you cry, your small body fitting so perfectly inside the curve of its own. It even nuzzles its face against the top of your head, its skin warmer than you remembered. When you break away again you’re still weeping, little hiccups escaping your chest. You put a palm up to wipe your eyes and it stops you, wipes them up with the thumb of its glove instead.  
  
“I missed you.” You whisper, and you can almost feel the horrifying truth of it in your bones. “I missed you so fucking much.”  
  
It gives you a look, feigning sadness, as though to tell you again that it knows. It nods its head slightly, then cups at your cheek once again. “We belong together.” It murmurs, and you feel a hole open up at the pit of your belly.  
  
“Yes.” You repeat after it, fingers digging into the flesh of your palms. _“We belong together.”_  
  
You watch as its eyes travel slowly down your body, back up your legs and lingering at the hem of your shorts. A shiver rushes up your spine; and you know then what it wants, what you’ve taught it to want. Your whole body shudders violently before hooking your thumbs into your waistband and pulling them down completely.  
  
It responds with a guttural sound, satisfied by your desperation.  
  
You rack your mind for words that just won’t come, bone-dry emptiness resting in the space between your jaws. There’s only one that you’re finally able to whisper out, tinged wet with shame. _“Please.”_  
  
Its eyes flash yellow in approval, that familiar ravenous look taking over its beautiful features. It smiles wickedly, a low growl humming somewhere in the back of its throat as it moves in closer.  
  
“Say it.” It hisses. “Say that you want me to fuck you.”  
  
“I want you to fuck me.” You whisper, surprised at how heartfelt it comes out.  
  
Pennywise smiles, drool spilling from the curve of its bottom lip. It moves closer and closer until your back is pressed firmly against the wall, hooks its arms beneath your thighs and hoists you up into the air.  
  
“Say it again.” It snarls, pinning you back harder with its hips between your bent legs.  
  
“I want to to fuck me! Please. I need it. I need _you.”_  
  
There’s no preparation, no shoving of its tongue or its fingers inside of you. There’s no warning, no filthy-dirty fuck-talk as it pulls your panties to the side with its mind, parts your lips with the head of its cock, and slides in to the hilt with one long thrust.  
  
“Like this?” It asks coyly, lips pressed softly to your ear.  
  
“Yes, _yes_ — Oh, God.”  
  
You let out a loud moan, dropping your head back. The breath leaves your lungs when it draws itself out, then shoves back in as far as your body will allow and all you can do to stay grounded is close your eyes and take your lip between your teeth.  
  
“Did you miss this, Little One? Did you miss how perfect I feel inside of you?”  
  
You nod as best as you can in answer, unable to form words through the thick haze of lust that shrouds your mind. The little bumps at the curve of your spine roll against the surface of the wall, grinding up and down as it fucks the life out you.  
  
“Say it for me.” It demands with a hiss, breath hot and sour against your face. “Say that you are _mine.”_  
  
And you can still feel it; the traces of Eddie inside of you, the raw spots that ache from how deeply he made love to you. Pennywise pushes past all of them, paving the way for itself and somehow that dull pain is better than any pleasure you’ve ever felt before with it. It quickens its pace, so hard and fast you can’t even separate your thoughts and _oh fuck it feels so good. It feels so fucking good you’re gonna come so fucking hard._  
  
“I’m... I’m _yours.”_  
  
“Good job, Little One, so perfect. So tight and sweet, just like I remembered. Tell me, child. Do you want me to fuck your other holes after this?” It enunciates its words with especially brutal thrusts, so quick and violent that you feel your whole body sliding up and down as it moves into you. “Do you want me to fill your pretty little mouth and make you choke? Make you _bleed?”_  
  
You open your mouth to answer it but all that comes out of you is a sob, head rested back against the wall behind you.  
  
“Oh _fuck,_ it feels so good. It feels so fucking _good_ I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come. I’m gonna co—” Your voice breaks off into a high-pitched wine as sharp as broken glass.  
  
It all builds up inside so brightly of you; a smoldering, roaring heat that erupts with flashes of orange behind your eyes. Pennywise follows you over the edge before you’ve even finished spasming, throbbing inside of you with a choked-out sound you’ve never heard from it before.  
  
It doesn’t move, even after it’s all over. The lust-tinged electricity leaves the room like a waning mist, gone in just moments. But it just keeps you pinned there firmly against the wall, and you can feel it softening as you struggle to catch your breath. It glides its tongue over your pulse, teeth grazing at the edges of its lips before finally drawing the length of itself out.  
  
Rose stains your cheeks as it lowers your feet back down to the floor to let you stand. It shakes the stiffness from its limbs, little bells jingling as it loosens itself up. Black liquid spills into your panties when you pull them back into place, warm and viscid, just like a human’s.  
  
You crouch down to grab your shorts and the second you reach your arm out it catches it, bending over to grab you faster than your brain can even comprehend. Its eyes flash red, fingers searing your wrist like hot irons. You let out a shriek, the pain desperate and urgent and unable to be ignored. The stench of burnt flesh and smoke fills your nostrils as the fat beneath your skin begins to bubble in its grip.  
  
“Let me go! Let me go! _Let me fucking go!”_  
  
It hurts, it fucking _hurts,_ and when at last it lets you go all you can do is howl. The sight of its handprint branded onto your skin only makes it that much worse, agony firing through your veins like a fucking gunshot.  
  
Pennywise giggles softly, hardly even amused, both eyes glowing like a reptile’s in the darkness.  
  
“Giving yourself to me like an animal in heat; this was supposed to make me spare you?”  
  
You whimper as you scoot away from it, clutching the base of your arm as though it may somehow give you relief from the wound. Your lips tremble, sobbing as you slide back against the wooden frame of the basement door.  
  
It moves towards you on its haunches, crawling in languid movements like a wolf on the hunt. Drool oozes from its mouth into puddles on the floor, leaving a trail of spit as it advances.  
  
“Stupid little girl... Stupid, pathetic little girl. I’m going to eat you. Every. Last. _Bit of you._ But I told you that I wouldn’t kill you, not yet. Not until the end. Isn’t that right, _Little Buddy?”_  
  
You flatten yourself against the surface of the door, stretching your arms out in a last-ditch effort to stay back from it. Your fingernails claw at the wood behind you, catching on the space between the door and the frame. You search for the cool metal of the doorknob and rest your fingers around it, just like you’d planned in your head.  
  
“So you know what I think I will do?” It pauses, eyes rolling into the back of its head as its jaw comes apart. “I think I will eat half of you now… And half of you when I’m finished with the others.” It dips its awful head down, teeth mutating into thousands of yellowed fangs. Your heart rises in its throat as it pulls its lips back as far as they will go. “But first,” Pennywise begins, breath hot over the fabric covering your cunt, “I think I’ll start with my _favorite part.”_  
  
You pull the knob violently to the right and the door gives way behind you. You fall with as much grace as you possibly can, toppling backwards down the steps like a rolling ball. The air leaves your lungs each time another part of you slams onto the edge of the steps, rendering yourself back and blue by the time you reach the dirt-covered bottom.  
  
“Filthy brat!”  
  
It flies down the steps with ease in pursuit, on all fours with its hands flattened like a lizard. Everything about it now is so unnatural, so reptilian in nature. It’s so obvious that it’s done pretending, that it no longer needs the fake-human parts of it anymore to draw you in.  
  
“You cannot escape me!” It growls, veering on the edge of a roar.  
  
The pain is still there, your wounds all prodding at the back of your mind as you raise yourself onto your hands and knees. After you’re up you scramble backwards again with as much strength as you can muster, all the way to the edge of the well that rests at the back of the basement.  
  
"You were wrong about me sleeping with you. I wasn’t... I wasn't trying to offer myself to you in return for safety.” You pause to cough, the dust on the floor still stirring up wildly from the fall. “I wasn’t trying to get away."  
  
Its body freezes, claws dug inches into the earth at the base of the stairs. Distance is nothing to this thing, despite being nearly all the way across the other side of the room. You’re chillingly aware that it could still be upon you in an instant, vibrating and rattling with speed.  
  
Its legs and arms have changed completely now, like an alien creature from a movie, but you can still see the confusion flash cross its clown-like face all the same.  
  
“It’s hard for you to pay attention to things when you’re with me. Isn’t that right, Pennywise?”  
  
It hisses at you, low and gurgled like a crocodile waiting above the water. It bares its fangs again, cocks its head just slightly to the left.  
  
“I don’t know if it’s because I’m that much of an interference, or if you’re just stupid enough to let your weird psychic all-knowing guard down; but I know you aren’t as all-knowing as you usually are when you’re busy toying with me. It’s why you didn’t know when Ben was still alive.”  
  
“Foolish girl.” It grates out, lips pulled halfway between a grin and a snarl. “I knew that fat little worm was still still breathing.”  
  
You blow out a tiny puff of air through your nostrils, shaking your head. “No you fucking didn’t, Pennywise. But it’s okay. You just— you know— you got a little _sloppy._ You made a mistake. And speaking of mistakes,” you pause to climb back to sit on the edge of the well, “You don’t see stuff so good outside of Derry, do you?” You cock your head to the side. “No, I didn’t think so, you self-assured fuck.”  
  
It bares its teeth at you as it roars, loud and horrifying like something from the jurassic. Fury flashes red in its eyes, disappearing and reappearing mere inches out in front of you.  
  
“Those words will be your last, you stupid little bitch! I will rip your tongue from your mouth and I will _eat it.”_  
  
“Yeah? Eat shit.”  
  
It screeches again, so loud the walls around you begin the quake. The ground begins to rumble as dark liquid begins to pool at the apex of your eyes; leaking down your cheekbones before you swipe a finger across it. Blood. Jesus Christ, it’s making you cry tears of blood, another cheap trick to try and horrify you. Luckily enough it doesn’t work, not this time. You stand on your feet, arms swinging in circles to to gain your balance as your heels hang over the ledge of the pit behind you.  
  
“I knew you wouldn’t spare me.” You repeat, voice as heavy as stone. “I just wanted to fuck a deity one last time before we all killed it.”  
  
Its eyes flash as they bounce wildly at each of your movements. The growl in its throat is deafening, constant, echoing through the stone walls of the basement. Other than that it is silent, and you expect you’ve actually rendered it speechless.  
  
“It was a distraction, you stupid fucking clown. Coming here today, it wasn't because I wanted you back. I was your fucking _distraction..._  Do you get it now? We’re gonna fucking slaughter you, Penn. We’re gonna hurt you... You’re gonna ache, the way that I ache... We’re gonna kill the one thing that you love in this world, and that’s _you.”_  
  
It hisses, lunges towards you with those werewolf claws and slams them into the stones between your shoes. You shift your feet backwards, and you plummet down into the darkness of the well.


	26. Come and Try Then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of violence and triggering content

The five of you stand in a line, swaying on your feet like prizefighters before the bell, gripping your weapons with bone-white knuckles. A hatchet; that was the item you’d told them to get for you while you were distracting it, letting it fuck you against a wall while they made their ways into its lair.

“W-we’re not just fighting it ph-physically.” Bill had told everyone at the hospital, out of breath and ridden with tears. “We have to f-fight it mentally too. We need… We n-need things that have m-m-meaning.”

You can only hope that that’s true. For everyone’s sake you hope that it’s true. Weapons or no weapons, you still aren’t convinced that anyone could ever defeat a creature like Pennywise. No matter what you may be able to tell yourself you still know what it could do to all of you at the end of this. In fact, you know specifically which acts of torture it has explicitly threatened to inflict upon each and every Loser here. All of the things you’ve seen, all that you know it is capable of; you pray to whatever is out there that the objects you each hold do actual damage instead of simply pissing it off.

In the corner of your eye there’s Ben. He’s floating high above the air like a mannequin hanging from the ceiling, completely catatonic in his hospital-gown. You can’t help but wonder, if you’re able to somehow defeat the monster, if he’ll even be able to survive in his unhealed condition after all of this.

“Where the fuck are your pants?” Richie asks, drawing his eyes up your bare legs and stopping at the hem of your shirt.

You never imagined yourself preparing to face off with it— and especially never imagined being in this bad of shape when it happened.The already-torn skin on the palms of your hands is completely gone now, leaving nothing but angry red flesh that glistens in the dim light of the lair. You’d grasped the rope hanging into the well for dear life, sliding down yet fully expecting it to give way and send you to your death. A part of you wonders if you even survived it at all, and questions if this is all just some hell-soaked limbo you’ll never be able to conquer.

Bill shoots Richie a glare, determination burning bright in his eyes. He’s been waiting for this moment all his life, to be able to kill the beast that devoured his brother. This is his chance at closure, at revenge, at redemption, at fucking everything. Pennywise may have hurt you, but it has never taken from you anything close to what it took from Bill. 

Eddie looks to you with pain on his face; the most heartbreaking mixture of fear and love that you’ve ever seen on anyone before.

He still thinks you’re going to make it out alive along with him. He still thinks you’ll be the fairytale wife he’s always dreamed of once this nightmare has ended. He doesn’t know that you’re going to do anything you can to save him, and that if you have even the slightest chance of offering your own life for his that you’ll take it in an instant. There‘s no happy ending that involves you not dying for what you’ve done.

“I love you.” Eddie mouths, hand over his heart.

There’s that feeling in your chest again, like the blade of a knife. You pray that when he leaves this place he won’t let anyone— or anything— hurt him ever again.

“I love you too.”

A roar erupts from somewhere at the mouth of the lair, a high-pitched bellow that sounds unlike anything you’ve ever heard. Loud bursts of noise ricochet through the catacombs, tiny pebbles jumping at your feet.

“Here it comes.” Beverly grits out, breath whistling through her clenched teeth.

The air around your bare legs and arms goes cold, suddenly stinking of death and of something poisonous. You can feel it right before it shows its face, sparks of electricity prickling the nape of your neck.

“Little fools. You think you’ve come to kill me.”

The sound comes from behind you. Everyone whirls around on their toes, nearly leaping from the sudden shock of it. 

You expect it to be in the monstrous form it took above the well, the demon-like creature a spiny back and werewolf claws. Instead, it’s just Pennywise The Dancing Clown. Perfectly clean suit, brilliant orange hair, expertly-painted makeup; it looks about as human as it is possibly capable of being in this form.

“You will die if you try.” It insists, grinning and shaking its head side to side in a display of pity. “You are not children anymore.”

“That’s r-r-right.” Bill challenges, taking a step forward. “We’re not little k-kids anym-more. We’re adults now. And we’re not f-f-fucking afraid of you.”

The clown hisses, a sound like an alligator hiding within reeds. It’s still smiling, an awful smirk held tightly at the edge of its lips.

“No. No, no, no. Your minds are filthy... Weak... Just... Like...” It pauses, turns to gesture at you like a magician introducing his beautiful assistant, _“Hers.”_

You’re close enough that you can spit at it. The saliva lands in a thick stripe across the apple of its cheek. You watch as it freezes, smug expression spilling over with a flash of surprise in its eyes. Its face doesn’t move for what feels like seconds, just standing there like a gruesome wax-figurine.

When at last it brings a gloved hand to wipe clean the insult splattered over its skin it fucking laughs. It giggles, like thousands of bubbles popping in the air. The sound raises to a frequency that makes your jaw ache, pain stabbing into your ears like shards of broken glass. It punctuates its cackling with a deep sigh, face returning to a state of content and amusement.

The hair stands up on your arms, skin prickling with gooseflesh. Then all Hell breaks loose.

Pennywise opens its mouth wide, chin dropping to its chest as it becomes unhinged without falter. Black fluid spills and spurts like a geyser from the places where its veins should be, painting its suit within seconds. It brings its fingers to cup at the roof of its mouth. Then, it promptly separates its head from its spine and lets its drop to the floor like a large rubber ball.

“Oh Jesus.” Cries Richie. “Oh fuck! Oh Bill, what the _fuck?_ What the fuck do we—“

“Just shut up, Richie!” Eddie screams, backing up quickly.

The rest of you follow suit, practically skittering away from the headless devil in front of you. Its body takes a clumsy, lurching step forwards, each movement a violent jerking of muscle and bone. It cranes its spine, curling in on itself. It takes only a moment to realize it’s giving you a view of the hole between its shoulders, and the stick-like appendage birthing its way out from the obsidian gore. 

“It killed St-Stanley!” Bill roars, as though to remind everyone to stay strong and brave and hopeful in the midst of such a sight. “It killed Mike! It killed G-G-Georgie!”

Richie looks as though he might vomit. His face is paper-while and beaded with sweat. You can feel the muscles in your stomach contracting, and for a moment you feel as if you might join him.

Jesus Christ, what the fuck were any of you thinking? Five human beings with no solid plan against an immortal God?

Without fear, you were convinced you all had a chance. But now, after looking at each of the others, you think you were better off letting it devour you upstairs.

A gurgling sound erupts from the torso of the clown, torn apart as something foreign and alien grows within it. At last it rips entirely in half, revealing a growing insect-like creature. It’s as though the body of Pennywise was nothing more than a shell, making way for this thing until the day it decided to hatch forth.

“What is that?” Eddie asks, so quietly you can barely hear it. 

No one answers, but you know what it is. You fucking know.

_Do you like spiders, Kiddo?_

You do everything you can to dig your heels in, to fight the terror threatening to bloom inside of you. You can’t let it have that, you can’t let it smell it on you. For this to work you have to be brave.

You have to be brave.

You fucking _have_ to be brave.

The thing stretches its many earth-colored limbs, armored plates covering every bend and curve. It shakes away the fluids and flaps of skin and flesh and propels its body forward as a mocking display of lunging. You and the others flinch away with scattered gasps, causing it to make an odd chittering sound— one that can only mean satisfaction.

“Silly prey. You cannot defeat me! You cannot even _touch me!”_ Its words are deep, inhuman, accompanied by the twitching of its mandibles. “Even if I expired here, now, I would live on again! I will never die! I have made sure of—“

The spider’s voice comes to a halt when a stone whizzes past the underside of where its jaw should be.

You whip your head to the right to follow the source and see Beverly standing with her feet spread apart, arms raised like a mighty archer. In her grasp is a tiny rusted slingshot, like something your father would have owned as a child.

You can practically hear your heart falling from its place in your chest, wanting to curse her for choosing such a worthless fucking weapon. You can’t help but feel unreasonable, animalistic anger at her for being so careless; suddenly wishing you could snap it in half and offer her to the beast yourself. You brought a fucking axe, ready to lay down your life and battle it up close; and she brought a useless fucking toy?

She raises the slingshot once more and fires off, and you don’t even have to look to be able to tell that it missed. She couldn’t keep her hands from shaking, wrists clattering and soiling her aim.

It’s only when her jaw drops open and her eyes widen in horror that you follow the trajectory of the rock. Your mind can’t seem to grasp the empty space above you, standing just where the beast had been; and you still don’t understand the look of dread in her eyes until you drop your gaze down lower.

“What’s wrong, Little Bevvie?” The strange man that’s taken the place of the spider asks, voice rasped and honeyed. _“Missed_ me?”

Her face is pulled long, eyes nearly all white-looking from how wide they are. She looks absolutely bovine for a moment, like a cow before the slaughter. She hardens herself back up in an instant, only by then it’s too late. It’s sensed her fear, spun it out into something more horrible.

“I missed my little girl! You were my special little girl and I loved you! Oh, Daddy loved you so fucking much! I loved every _part_ of you, Bevvie! I loved you, and you were _mine!”_

Beverly screams, only this time it isn’t out of fear. She releases the elastic band and fires another shot at the center of what must be her father’s face.

He ducks down to avoid the blow, nearly dropping completely to his knees and doubling over. He crumples in on himself and in the blink of an eye he takes the form of something else— a small boy in a yellow rain-jacket.

Georgie, you realize. It’s become Georgie.

“Billy! Tell Beverly to stop! Tell her to leave me alone! You can make it all better, Billy! I wanna see Mom and Dad! I wanna go home! Please, just hold me and take me home!” 

Bill lunges without hesitation. He raises his weapon, though you can’t see from here exactly what it is. You can’t even imagine how much that must fucking take, trying to kill the person you miss the most in this world— no matter what you know actually lies beneath.

Pennywise doesn’t even humor him. It transforms quickly, back into the clown and strikes its palm out toward Bill’s throat.

“No!” You scream, heart pounding. “Let him go!”

Eddie joins in, voice cracking from the volume. “Leave him alone!”

“We’ll fucking kill you!” Snarls Richie, gripping what you think might be a lead pipe.

“Come and try then.”

That does it, like a pistol firing before a race. Everyone but Beverly rushes forward, weapons reared back over your shoulders. Adrenaline pushes you forward, numbing each and every one of your wounds as you ready yourself to hack it into pieces.

Pennywise lifts Bill up into the air with ease before anyone can reach, eyes burning red in the darkness. Bill makes a choking sound, feet flailing as he struggles to get away.

“Tell me, Billy Boy.” It hisses, bringing his face in close enough that their noses touch. “Are you gonna scream like Georgie did?”

It’s exactly then that Richie’s weapon connects hard against the center of its back. The impact is so violent that Pennywise’s whole body jerks forward. It growls like a feral dog in response; fury evident on its snow-white face. It tosses Bill to the side as though he weighed nothing at all, sending him flying into the wall at the other edge of the lair.

Beverly cries out loudly, and you see her lift her slingshot again out of the corner of your eye. She’s still moving though, still trying to find its weakest spot and running in side-to-side movements as she seeks out higher ground.

Pennywise twirls towards Eddie instead of Richie, wearing Myra’s face atop all of its frills and lace. Her lips are pulled back into a sneer, flat face twisted up into disgust.

“How could you do this to me Eds? How could you break our vows? And for what, Eds? For her! For a filthy, broken little _whore!”_

You clench your fists as tightly as you can, blood painting the throat of the axe in a deep red handprint. You raise it high over your head, fighting the urge to swing too soon and ruin your chance. Luckily Richie lands another blow, and takes its attention away from you.

 _Please, God, just let this fucking work._ You beg silently, choosing a place right in the center at the back of its head. _Just let this all end, let it be over so we can all be free._

You hear the faint elastic sound of Beverly’s slingshot snapping forwards. You can hear the rock flying through the air like a firework in the sky, happening in what almost feels like slow-motion. You make the connection immediately as it happens, as the stone slams into your temple. There’s no stumbling on your feet, or fading to black as you go unconscious. It’s just darkness, and it slams over you like a dropped curtain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are almost there! Just one more chapter left. I say it every time but thanks so much for reading.


	27. People Like You

When you wake again, groggy and moaning and clutching your head, you see Eddie. You’re all the way at the other side of the lair, as though someone had dragged you here, but you can still see what’s happening. Eddie’s hand is in the spider’s mouth. His face is twisted up in a grimace of effort, and he looks to be spraying something inside of its throat.

The great beast bellows, jerking from side to side by moving itself on its impossibly long legs; but when it sees you struggling to sit up it suddenly ceases. You watch as its dozens of black eyes widen, and you can feel it in your gut that it’s looking directly at you and not Eddie anymore. Something flashes somewhere deep in its irises. You realize, with horror, that it looks like pleasure. The arachnid focuses its gaze back on Eddie, and clamps viciously down on the base of his arm.

The sound that comes out of Eddie’s mouth is frightening, like the desperate yelp of a dying animal. Eddie falls back, and even from here there’s no mistaking the fact that his arm is gone. All that’s left is a deep red stump, protruding mere inches from the curve of his shoulder.

“No!” You shriek, and everything around you threatens to go dark again.

 _Get to him!_ Your mind screams, flashing white with strobe lights of panic and anguish. _Run to him!_

You only make it a few steps before the ground opens up beneath you, changing the hardened den of the lair into something soft and viscid— like quicksand. It’s almost like that time in the mud by your tires when it tried to slow you down and keep you from getting away. You struggle with all your might, kicking your knees up; trying to do anything you can to go near him, to just fucking feel him before it’s too late.

“Get to Eddie!”

“Eddie!”

“Someone help Eddie!”

Everyone’s screaming, roaring; blind with fright and rage.

You’re pulling your legs so hard you think you might black out, might tear the balls of your hips from their sockets. The more you writhe the more solid it becomes around you, encasing your thighs and holding you in place.

Beverly makes it to Eddie before anyone else, kneels behind his back and holds him. Scarlet stains her legs immediately, color painting her jeans like a blooming rose. Her jaw falls open, hands shaking as she looks at the blood on her palms.

In this moment, you know that you hate her. You hate her for accidentally hitting you instead of the clown, for snuffing out your chance of saving everyone like fingers pressed against a candlewick. You hate her for letting this happen, and for being the one who gets to hold Eddie when he—

Eddie groans, a soft broken noise that sounds like a foot stepping on gravel. Your breath hitches, as though a fist has reached through your chest and clutched tightly at your lungs. He’s still alive, and even though you don’t know for how long you know that he has a chance. 

“Kill it!” You scream, still trapped and clawing at the ground in front of you. “Kill it! Someone please just fucking _kill it!”_

You can see it laughing, whole body vibrating with joy as it morphs back into something that resembles the clown. Piranha-teeth spill over the edges of its enormous mouth, brow narrowed so sharply it nearly touches the tip of its nose.

“Kill it!” You beg, looking at the others and wondering why in the Hell they aren’t rushing towards it.

It’s then that you realize just how long you’d been unconscious. They’ve been battling it for some time now; clothes in tatters, sweat and blood slicking their hair and plastering it to their skin. Their faces are sullen, bruised; stumbling on their feet as though they may collapse at any time from sheer exhaustion.

_No. Please God, no. Don’t let it all end like this. Don’t let it win._

This— this was supposed to work. You were all supposed to be strong, to be brave and resilient and face it with chins held high and not a single drop of fear buried anywhere in your souls. You were all supposed to slaughter it, together. You were supposed to make it hurt the way that it hurt all of you.

A part of you, some tiny festering sore in the pit of your heart, knows that none of you ever even had a chance. All those wicked things you did for it, and all the things it did itself. It took from the group three of the people it needed the most, and loosed upon the survivors something to tear them all apart. It gave them _you._

It was you who broke them and took away the potential within them all to have been able to overthrow it. Frightened things have no chance against a thing like this, one who feeds upon terror as though it were wine. It was you who did this to them. It was all fucking you.

Your fingers still, ceasing in their clawing of the earth in front of you. You feel your arms go limp, and you hang your head down in wait of the demise that’s sure to come.

 _“Don’t you go to sleep, Little Thing. What I am about to say is important. I want you to hear me.”_

You let out another scream, only this time it isn’t out of panic, or out of sorrow. This time it’s out of revulsion. Its voice is in your head, penetrating your mind just as it once did in those days when it was using you to do its bidding. The thought of it inside of you in any way makes you snarl, regardless of the fact that you can still feel its dried come clinging to the inside of your thigh.

The sound of your shrill cry seems to shock everyone else back into reality, having previously been just as vacant and frozen as the floating Ben Hanscom.

Bill and Richie rush towards it again like a pair of wolves preparing to take down a large animal. Beverly lifts her pathetic excuse for a weapon and prepares yet again to miss her shot.

“Wait!”

Everyone freezes, arms put out defensively in front of themselves at the loud clap of its words. Both Bill and Richie’s feet skid loudly against the soiled ground, and there’s almost a look of relief on Beverly’s face— as though she were holding her breath and only now able to finally exhale.

Pennywise growls, a low sound igniting somewhere deep in its chest. Its eyes are as light and as beautiful as Bill’s, one poised to stare useless somewhere over in the distance. It holds its arms out in front of itself in a curious gesture, gloved-fingers splayed as widely as they can go.

When at last it speaks its words are hushed, slow, like the hissing of a snake, “I have a proposition.”

“Stick it up your ass!” Richie screams, blood smearing one of the broken lenses of its glasses. 

“Is that any way to speak to someone who is about to offer you _mercy?”_ The clown clucks its tongue, eyes suddenly flashing and fading back to yellow. 

Bill, who’s trying his hardest not to fall to his knees, dips his head toward Pennywise as if to tell it to go on. He’s heaving, sweat and tears drenching the front of his neck. For a moment you think he might faint, legs shaking from how much effort he’s using to keep himself up.

The creature lets out a low, guttural, clicking sound in response. It draws its eyes over everyone in the lair, rocking back and forth with what looks to be a childlike excitement. Richie flinches away when Pennywise looks to him, as though the very sight of it in this form is almost too much to bear.

“I could kill you.” It begins, then raises a pointed finger to scan over the other Losers. “I could kill _all of you_... I could feast on your hearts as I dine on your fear.”

Beverly hisses like a cat with its back arched, her beautiful face as white as a paper-doll’s. Bill blows the air from his nose, shaking his head in defiance.

“It is true... You all know it to be true... I can feel it in your veins. I can smell it on your skin... You would taste so delicious like this. All of you. Every... Single... One of you.”

Now it’s you who makes a noise, a pathetic whimper that cuts through the sound of the others’ panting breaths and sniffling. Pennywise whips its head towards you when it hears it, and smiles darkly in return.

 _“Or...”_ It starts again, suddenly dropping down into a crouch, “I could take but one of you... Just one, and then I will be on my merry way. I will spare your children, and your children’s children. I will take my long rest, and I will leave the rest of you be.”

“It’s lying!” Beverly cries.

“Filthy brat.” It snarls. “Do not be a fool. What I speak is the truth.”

Bill looks to Richie, frantically shaking his head ‘no.’ Tears spill over his cheeks, desperation and pain evident in the way his fingers hang limply at his sides. He turns to Beverly, and from this angle to can see the truth in his eyes. He wants it to be him. He wants to be the hero. He wants to save everyone— even you.

“No.” You whisper, almost to yourself. “It has to be me.”

You look up at it, and this time your voice rings out clear and concise. _“Me!_ Please, take _me!”_

The clown looks at you and smiles, but there’s something hidden in its eyes. You feel the hardened ground around your legs becoming tighter, as though it’s trying to mock the fact that it has you trapped.

“Let me go!” You cry, and this time there’s evident panic ringing out in your voice. “ _Please_ , just let it be me! Take _me!_ Kill me, and them all go!”

You can see them all sharing glances, as though they’re all oblivious to your cries of desperation and writhing movements. Tears spring from your eyes, like a dam breaking somewhere in your chest.

“I don’t under— I don’t _understand!_ Why won’t you let it be me?” You look to it, begging and straining your neck so hard you think an artery might burst in the spaces beside your throat. “Why won’t you let it be—“

And then it becomes clear. What it said to all of you just before Beverly had fired a rock at it for the first time, before she had knocked you unconscious and sent you falling onto your side.

_“Even if I expired here, now, I would live on again! I will never die! I have made sure of it.“_

It feels as if all the blood in your body has just been drained out of you, like a siphon pressed into your heart. You can’t hold back the sound that creeps out of your lips, a fusion between a groan and a wail.

“I will take one of you.” The clown repeats in the distance. “Only one. You must come to me. You must let me devour you in place of your filthy little friends.”

When Eddie first lifts his head you don’t realize what’s happening, or what his intentions are. His face is dangerously pale, as though his freckles were specks of ash on freshly fallen snow. His fingers tremble wildly as he tries to push himself up on single the arm he’s been left with.

“Eddie?” Beverly asks, letting him push himself off from her lap and collapse belly-first onto the ground. “Eddie, don’t move you’ll—

It’s Richie who realizes what’s happening, long before anyone else.

“Eddie! _Eds,_ don’t you fucking dare!”

He tries to run around the opposite side of Pennywise to get to him but it stops him with its mind. Its mental hold is so powerful you can see the other lens of his glasses cracking from the sheer force of it.

You still don’t realize what’s happening, or what Eddie’s doing for what feels like an eternity. You’re too busy vomiting your guts out onto the ground in front of you, hot bile stinging through your nostrils as it expels.

You failed to kill Mike and it spared you. You failed to kill Ben and it spared you. You refused to even try to kill Eddie, fucked him again and again while it watched; and still it fucking spared you— no matter how dark its threats may have been upstairs.

But you know now, the truth of all of it. You know the reason why it’s keeping you held back instead of letting you throw yourself at its feet like a freshly prepared meal. It hasn’t been saving you for last so that it can hurt you the most by killing the others in front of you. It‘s been saving you for something else.

“Pennywise will give you everything you want…” It had promised. “And you need only do one thing for me.”

You were wrong. Oh God, you were so fucking wrong— about its motivations, about what your end of the deal was for. Because the one thing it needed from you wasn’t your help to kill the Losers. The thing it needed from you, was your _womb._

“Oh Jesus Christ. Why, Pennywise?” You ask, voice mangled and broken. _“Why me?_ ”

It snaps its head over in your direction again, and it’s as if it can smell the realization on you as easily as it can smell the fear of a child. It grins, and the triumph in its eyes lets you know that you‘ve finally gotten it right.

It knew what it was doing with you from the very start, why it had fucked you instead of simply using its deadlights to make you do its bidding. You gave it the idea when it smelled your arousal that night in your bed, a millennia-old realization that maybe if it tried— yes maybe if it tried it could conceive a chance to save its dying race. It did this all on purpose, a backup plan in case the things that had nearly defeated it as children succeeded as adults. Even if The Losers killed it, it would have lived on; through the dark spawn growing inside of you.

“KILL ME!” You scream, the sound clawing its way out of your throat and ripping through your vocal chords. “JUST FUCKING KILL ME!”

There’s no way to know what lies in wait at the pit of your belly; how many could be growing or what kind of monstrosity could even have been created. What you do know is that even one viable heir could bring forth terror unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. There cannot be more. There cannot ever be more.

“No, Eddie, d-don’t!” Bill screams, and it’s only then that you realize what’s happening.

Drool spills from the edges of Pennywise’s lips, anticipation blazing deep in its eyes. It watches Eddie crawl weakly towards it with its eyes locked onto him, like a cat stalking its prey in the grass. 

“Eddie! Eddie stop! What are you doing?” You cry, and when he turns to look at you his skin is almost blue.

It hits you, like a fucking gunshot to the chest. He thinks he’s fucking saving you.

 _“Eddie!”_ Beverly roars, voice ripping and cracking.

She reaches an arm out, tries to grab at the heel of his shoe and then misses. She could rush forward and stop him, they could all rush forward and stop him— but you know in your heart why they aren’t trying. They think he’s going to die anyway.

“SOMEONE STOP HIM!” You scream, and this time it’s so loud that Beverly flinches. “IT CAN’T BE HIM! IT HAS TO BE ME! PLEASE IT— IT _HAS TO BE ME!”_

When you pull at your legs and arms again, a last-ditch attempt to feel some sense of effort; you’re surprised to find that you are suddenly let free. Your body drops forwards for a moment, your brain not registering the possibility that it would have ever let you go or given you the chance to let it be you instead. It takes only a moment to regain your bearings, to launch yourself forwards into a sprint to get to Eddie.

You’re almost there, ready to fling yourself in front of him when something catches you again. You ready yourself to roar out in desolation, ready to curse it in your head and tell it again just how fucking much that you hate it— when you realize the thing holding you back is not a product of its abilities. It’s Bill Denbrough.

“What the fuck are you doing? Bill? _Bill!”_

He thinks he’s saving you too. He thinks this is what Eddie would have wanted from him— that Eddie would have wanted to give his life for you instead of bleeding out in vain. He doesn’t know that Eddie would have never given his life for yours had he known you were pregnant with a thing that could bring forth the end of the fucking world.

“Let me go! Let me go! LET ME FUCKING _GO!”_

Pennywise climbs over Eddie’s body, knees on either side of his hips and hands pressed flat beside his shoulders.

“IT HAS TO BE ME! OH GOD SOMEONE PLEASE LISTEN TO ME! IT HAS TO BE ME!”

You could tell them all why. You could scream out that you’ve been fucking it all this time, been letting it come inside of your cunt without a single care in the world. You could let them all know that you tried to kill Mike and Ben not because you were under the power of its deadlights, but because you are a desperately lonely psychopath who fell in love with a monster. You could let them know that if you survive all of this then so will that eldritch creature’s despicable young. You could let them know all of this, and Bill would loosen his grip on you as if your skin were made of acid; but you don’t say a word.

Because you’re a terrible person. And you’re a liar. And you don’t want Eddie to leave here, dead or alive, knowing the truth of what you are.

“I love you.” Eddie mouths, lettings his face drop down towards you.

His lips move again, and even though you aren’t certain what the words are, you think he’s telling you that he’ll follow you. That wherever you go, he’ll follow you. You don’t know what that means, or if it’s simply the panicked ramblings of a dying man; but either way you still can’t bring yourself to say it back, can’t accept what’s about to happen right in front of you.

“Please.” You beg one last time, your eyes and the clown’s locked into a dead stare. “Please don’t do this. Please don’t—”

And then it does. It cuts a sharp line into the space beneath Eddie’s chin with its claw, so swiftly that at first the blood doesn’t even come. It’s just a pale white slit, a harmless necklace wrapped around his throat. Then it spurts, spattering across Pennywise’s face like a scarlet mask.

Eddie’s chest heaves, his body trying desperately to fight off the inevitable. His arm jerks once, twice, and then it’s all over. The light leaves his eyes, opened wide and staring up into nothingness.

The room is silent. No one screams, or sobs, or cries out his name and asks God why. It’s simply quiet. You can hear the faint dripping and rushing of water somewhere far off in the distance, and what sounds like rats clamoring around with clawed feet somewhere deep in the tunnels.

It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t feel like anything. You just stare at Eddie’s limp body, bled out like a stuck pig; wishing to God that you had killed yourself that day in your bathtub.

Bill covers his face with his hands when Pennywise takes its bottom-lip between its teeth and sucks it clean. Its mouth is pouring now, hunger evident in the way it looks as though it’s somehow glitching and becoming more primal.

“Go.” Pennywise hisses, its horrible eyes glowing even through the caked on blood. “Take your lives with you, and that little fat-boy too. _Go!_ And do not ever come back here again.”

Beverly stands on wobbling knees, face twisted up into a silent sob. She looks as though she’s just been stabbed, hugging herself tightly as if to keep her chest from bleeding out.

Richie has his hands on his head, fingers twisted up into his hair. You know they were close, closer even than any of the rest. You wonder if losing Eddie hurts him nearly as much as losing it will hurt you once the initial shock has ebbed and faded.

They may have been spared, as well as the lives of any children they may someday have; but you can’t help feeling as if all of this were for nothing.

“Don’t touch me.” You whisper, when Bill tries to put his hands under your arms to lift you.

He doesn’t listen, making a soft grunt of effort as he raises your ass off of the ground.

“I said don’t you _fucking touch me!”_

Bill flinches, drops you to the ground and backs quickly away. Even through the hurt in his eyes you can see that he understands. He didn’t know definitively whether or not Eddie would have died, and he thinks you’ll carry that knowledge with you for the rest of your life. He thinks that you blame him. He still doesn’t know that regardless of whether or not Eddie would have lived, you deserved to die. He thinks this is all his fault.

Richie moves towards Eddie’s body, eliciting a vicious snarl from Pennywise’s mouth.

“No.” The clown snaps, shoulders raised and lips pulled back to bare its teeth. “No. You cannot take him. He belongs to me.”

Surprise bolts across on Richie’s face.

“What? N-n-no.” He stammers, lip trembling. “We can’t just leave him here. It’s too dark! He wouldn’t wanna be left alone down here! He wouldn’t—“

“Richie.” Bill warns. “We have to let him go.”

Richie turns to him, a pleading look in his eyes.

Bill doesn’t waver.

“This is what he wanted.”

At last Richie nods his head, sharp jerking movements that show just how wounded and reluctant he is to leave his friend to rot in a place like this. He lifts his glasses, and uses his sewer-coated palm to wipe clean the tears from his cheekbones. He crouches down, glancing up at the clown as he moves slowly towards Eddie.

A low growl rises deep in Pennywise’s throat, like an untrained dog whose master is reaching slowly towards its food.

A pink-strained tear drops from Richie’s eye, and you watch as it crashes against Eddie’s forehead. He kisses him, softly, and whispers something too quietly for you to hear.

You’re vaguely aware that Bill and Beverly are working to get Bill down from his floating place at the ceiling. Once they’ve succeeded you can hear the muffled sound of their hands connecting with his cheeks, trying hard to slap and shake him into consciousness. You aren’t sure whether or not they’ve succeeded when Bill and Richie drape his arms over their shoulders, or if he’s simply being dragged limp and dead-eyed to a better place than here.

You don’t look up when Bill turns back, gives you one last long glance before leaving. You can’t tell whether or not it was pity, but you think now that maybe a part of him knows what you did, and that that’s why he didn’t hesitate to leave you down here instead of forcing you out.

“I didn’t say it back.” You whisper, though to whom you are not entirely sure. “That’s the last thing he ever felt. Me, not saying I loved him back.”

Pennywise chuckles darkly, shoulders bouncing as it folds its legs and pulls them into itself. It acts as if nothing has happened, as if it didn’t just slaughter the only person you loved in right front of you.

“Why?” You ask, looking up to meet its eyes. “Why did you have to kill him?”

You bring a hand to your head, swiping a trail of blood from where Beverly stone had hit you and staring numbly at the red on your fingers.

“What did you even gain from this? It could have been any of the others— any of them. Why did it have to be _him?”_

The clown lets out a soft snort of air, face ridden with annoyance and disdain. “Tell me, child. Why do you think?”

You close your eyes shut tightly, heat flaring up behind the skin of your cheeks. You don’t know why you feel ashamed, or why that’s the only thing you can seem to feel. You feel so fucking empty, as empty as the nights spent staring at that awful stain on your ceiling.

“I don’t want them.” You whisper, clutching your stomach so tightly you can feel your nails piercing your skin. “I don’t want to have them.”

“You do not have to.”

Your face goes lax, save for the furrowing of your brows. You straighten your back, mouth parted yet utterly empty.

“Destroy it. I have no use for it now.” It frowns, cocking its head and fixating its eyes at the space below your navel. “Though I doubt any man could ever kill a thing like me— even a simple little babe.”

“What?” You ask breathlessly, shaking your head in confusion. “Are you saying I—“

“I told no lies.” It answers quickly and sincerely. “That girly boy gave me his life. You are free from me forever. You may leave, whenever you would like, and I will never try to harm you again.”

Now, you finally start to cry. You weep, hot frightened tears that seem to spring from your eyes instead of rolling gently down the apples of your cheeks. You can still hear the footsteps of the others as they make their ways out of the catacombs. You think you can hear Ben’s voice, groggy and in pain; though you aren’t sure whether or not it is only wishful thinking.

“You wouldn’t just let me live!” You weep, gritting your teeth together so hard you think they might crack. “Not after what I did to you. You’re fucking evil— and you’re lying. You’ll kill me as soon as it’s born!”

“Perhaps.”

It frowns, and then nods its head towards Eddie’s lifeless body.

“Though I believe I have punished you well enough.”

Disgust hits you like a hard slap to the face, reminded again of the fact that it killed him because of something you did.

“I hate you!” You spit, baring your teeth and clenching your fists. “I fucking _hate_ you.”

“Then leave.” It hisses. “And be thankful I did not kill you.”

“You did.” You murmur, praying to God that fogged-over look in Eddie’s eyes doesn’t come back to you in your nightmares. “You did kill me. You took away the only person who loved me. I’ll be alone now, just like I fucking was.”

The clown shrugs, and raises a claw to pick at its teeth.

“Then stay.”

“Wh-what?”

“Stay here. With me.” It doesn’t even look up at you, its words quick and without emotion. “And you will never have to be alone again.”

You blink at it through the tears in your eyes, unsure of whether or not this is some hallucination from the blow to your skull.

All you can ask, voice raw and broken and small, is, “Why?”

Pennywise looks up at you now, and its eyes are so intense the sight makes your heart skip. “Why do you think, Little One?”

“You’re a murderer.” You whisper, hands in your hair, pulling hard enough that you can hear the follicles ripping out from your scalp. “You’re a monster. You kill children. You killed Eddie. You hurt me, so many fucking times. All of this... I’ll have gained— I’ll have gained nothing. I’ll have saved nothing. I fucking...“

The muscles contract in your belly, and you feel the vomit rising up from your throat. It slaps across Pennywise’s boots in an acidic pile, though it doesn’t even flinch away. It frowns at it for a moment, and then looks back up at you.

“So what will it be?” It asks, its face looking dull and bored. “Will you—“

“Yes.”

Because even after all of this, you still haven’t changed. Because you aren’t like other people. People like you aren’t supposed to be alone, and you won’t be. Not with Pennywise, or the thing growing inside of you. Not ever again.

“Yes.” You repeat, a hand pressed curiously against your belly. You look over at Eddie’s body, and again you feel nothing. _“Yes.”_


End file.
